What More Is There?
by AssessTheSituation
Summary: "Mr. Stark, it's a pleasure." Slash. Tony/Loki
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: I have been bitten by the enigmatic bug that is LokiXTony. I don't know how it happend, but it did and now it refuses to leave. Anyway, this story contains slash, male/male relationships. If you are uncomfortable with that information please locate your back arrow button next to your web browser or even the red x in the right-hand cornor of your screen. Now, I already have a fic I'm deseperatly trying not to negelct, so I'm going to need some serious feedback to continue this.**

**All characters are owned by Marvel (Disney) I don't profit from this story.**

A storm was bearing down mercilessly upon a bustling city. Residents of all kinds were holding onto their umbrellas for dear life as the cold, harsh winds swept through them. Others were desperately ducking for a place to shield them from the freezing onslaught of rain.

The sky was black with dark clouds, only illuminated with the brief streak of lightening and the people were deafened by the sound of rain hitting asphalt and the ominous rolling of thunder.

Being blinded and deafened by the storm, hurrying to their homes, no one noticed a man seeming to fall from the sky, the ground of an alleyway breaking his descent.

The man wearily rose from his plummet; new cracks adorning the pavement were the only evidence of his arrival.

Unfazed, he stepped out of the narrow passage and under a street light, those who moved passed him gave the man little attention, a strangely dressed man standing in the rain wasn't their problem.

Green eyes roamed over new surroundings. Tall buildings speckled with inner lights, technology every way one turned, and the people scurrying around for cover against the elements; Loki didn't need Heimdall to know that he was now in Midgar.

Spotting a bench a few feet away, the supposed 'God of Mischief' slowly made his way to it. Not caring that he was already drenched from the relentless rain, Loki sat, allowing his elbows to rest on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.

His father, his mother, his brother, his home, even himself . . . all lies that meant nothing now.

The memories of what had just transpired rushed back the moment he closed his eyes.

_Odin was keeping Loki and Thor from falling to an uncertain fate. The old man was clearly exhausted, just awakening from OdinSleep, and didn't seem to have the strength to pull both his sons up from their dangling positions off the damaged bridge._

_Loki was at his end, he had no fight left. In a final, desperate attempt to gain his father's approval, his love, Loki pleaded Odin to join with him, so that they could destroy Jotunheim together._

_"No Loki."_

_That was all it had taken and he was broken. Loki could never be the son of Odin, merely the abandoned monster he had took pity on. He would never be pardoned from his crimes against Asgard and once it was known that he was some Jotun runt, Loki, at best, would be banished to the frozen, unforgiving realm of his _true_ people._

_Taking in their positions, Loki realized that he had a moment of power, of choice that no one could take from him. Odin was holding onto Thor, his hand tightly gripping his son's ankle, and Loki was holding onto his staff which Thor refused to let go of._

_Loki was numbly aware that Thor was looking at him, silently begging him to hold on, but all Loki could see was his failure in Odin's eye, and so he took his moment of complete control:_

_Loki let go and fell through the swirling powers of the Bifrost._

It had been surprising, not only surviving the destructive magics of the fragmented machine, a wormhole, but also to have arrived whole and relatively unharmed on Midgar.

The realm of Midgar, known as Earth to its inhabitants, held no special place for Loki. It was a world full of beings, same as any other, who held material possessions as importance, craved significance and feared loneliness, and any deed done was to ultimately benefit themselves.

Loki felt numb. He had nothing now, even his anger deserted him, leaving little more than gaping hole. No place, no purpose. Reduced to thrown away after-thought, left to fade to dust on a world over-looked by all . . .

Loki raised his head from his hands, suddenly looking at the banal world as an offering of opportunity.

'Midgar is cut off from the other eight realms by its own ignorance,' realized the trickster, 'the other worlds rarely make their presence known to this still growing planet. I cannot return to Asgard, nor any other realm, for their ties to Asgard are great, but . . .I . . . I could live here.'

It was an unusual gift of good fortune for one who had had so little of it, but Loki saw no reason not to accept what he had been offered.

Loki could easily blend himself to Earth's ways, his magic creating a new life would be child's play. And no one would come looking for him; it would be foolish to assume that anyone could have survived what only luck had allowed Loki to.

Yes, he would no longer be bound by the ugly lie that was Loki Odinson of the horrific truth that became Loki Laufeyson. No, now he could build his own destiny, not held back by his blood or upbringing. Loki would live amongst the humans, simple people with simple lives, and none the wiser to Loki's addition.

Loki stood up; stretching his arms to the skies, bursting with pathetic laughter covered by the noise of the ongoing storm and tears blending in with the heavy rain, here . . . he would be accepted.

* * *

><p>"Tony."<p>

"Hrmmmm . . ."

"_Tony_."

"Hrmmph."

A sigh. "_Tony!_"

"Mrrrmm."

Apparently, three times was the limit for Tony Stark's personal assistant Pepper Potts to pleasantly try to wake up her boss before she promptly doused the semi-sleeping man in ice water.

"Ahhhhhh!" And suddenly Tony Stark found himself on the floor, a haphazard pile of soaked blankets for company.

Tired brown eyes looked up at his _dear_ assistant who had both hands on her hips, bucket being held in the right one. Between the cold and wet clothes sticking to his torso and the 'no nonsense' posture of Pepper, Tony knew going back to sleep was well out of his reach.

"Good, you're awake,' said Pepper, far too cheerfully in Tony's opinion.

"Is that anyway to treat your superior?" questioned the newly-awakened man, voice laced with sleep and mild irritation.

"In your case Tony, yes and then some, now get dressed, your company isn't going to run itself."

With a smile dripping of amusement and self-satisfaction, the red-head walked out of Tony's room, high heels click-clacking all the way.

Tony merely grumbled and got off the floor, taking a minute to stretch and wait for all the 'pops' of strained joints to finish. Moving to his dresser at a snail's pace, the inventor rummaged around for something dry to wear, quickly changed, and made off for his tech lab.

Not two minutes after greeting Jarvis with a "good morning" and receiving a complementary "and good morning to you, sir" had the interrupter of slumber herself walked in and dropped a manila folder into his lap.

"Awwww, but Pepper, I didn't get you anything."

The woman in question refrained from rolling her eyes. "I think I'll live."

The engineer prodigy withheld further sarcastic remarks to disinterestedly open the folder and skim over the contents.

"Proposal in doing business with the Rampet Corporation?"

"Yup." said Pepper while she straightened up her boss' desk, organizing the blueprints for an improved propulsion generator and throwing away week old pizza. "You're meeting with the head of the company, Lawrence Rampet, today at three o'clock sharp, so I suggest you get ready."

Tony groaned. "Come on Pepper, I'm beat, can't we reschedule?"

"If you'd sleep more you wouldn't be so tired and then I wouldn't have to drag you out of bed, and no, you can't reschedule, so stop whining."

Tony decided to switch to puppy-eyes; a last resort for the truly desperate.

"I was out all night with Clint and Steve, you know, being a superhero. Avengers stuff. Shouldn't that be rewarded with at least one day off?"

"Oh, of course! How silly of me, I forgot playing X-Box until two in the morning with your friends was essential to the preservation of the human race."

Tony knew he shouldn't have invited Steve; the guy couldn't lie to save his life.

A freshly pressed suit, tie, and car ride later, Tony was pulling up to Stark Industries. Pepper opted to wait in the lobby for their guest while Tony made for his office, his assistant's eyes trailing him the entire way to ensure he didn't stop en route.

Tony plopped into his high-back leather office chair and nearly face-planted his desk, remarking the wonderful comfort the wooden surface provided and weighing the pros and cons of Pepper coming in and finding him out cold.

Deciding it wasn't worth cold water to the face, or worse, considering Pepper's imagination and what she knew she could get away with, every morning; Tony ruefully sat up straight and waited for this Lawrence Rampet.

'This is boring.' Tony thought, mind willing time to move faster so he could get over this meeting and do something productive.

It was hard, juggling the life of Iron Man, responsible business man Tony Stark (which Pepper was skeptical existed), and regular Tony, who liked to make an entrance to a party, hang with friends, indulge in good alcohol, and, oh yeah, sleep.

'If I don't figure out my life better, the fun Tony is going to get sucked out of me, I'm going to become one-half superhero and one-half grouchy old man, engrossed with industry and stock and no personal life . . . dear God I'm going to become my father.'

With that little nugget of foreseeable doom stuck in his brain, Tony barely registered the knock at his door before Pepper's head emerged from the other side.

"Mr. Stark?"

'Oh, professional speak, means Rampet is here.'

Tony gave a 'go ahead' signal and Pepper opened the door completely to allow the man behind her to step inside the office.

Lean build, brown, maybe black hair, pale skin, shades covering his eyes, and a nice suit, Tony stood and made his way to the newcomer, hand out.

"Lawrence Rampet? I'm Tony Stark."

Rampet removed the sunglasses he'd been wearing to reveal emerald green eyes. The man with smooth angular features, dark hair, and startling eyes took Tony's hand in welcome and smiled.

"Mr. Stark, It's a pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: There are some things to mention, Tony Stark didn't come out to the world as Iron Man in this story, so the only people who know are Pepper and the other Avengers, also, Thor has never told his teammates about Loki. Thank you to all who reviewed and story alerted and please continue to leave comments and such, it lets me know people are invested in the story.**

Tony shook the man's pale hand, which was cooler than he'd expected, and asked him to take a seat so they could get started. And after a good half hour, with the introductions, pleasantries, and small talk out of the way, Tony had made a very reasonable assessment of Lawrence Rampet:

Rampet was English from the way his accent slightly accentuated his words, he had started his business, only recently settling a firm in America. He was smart, clever with words, a little on the arrogant side, not that Tony could talk, and this man was in no way intimidated by big CEO Tony Stark.

Tony realized early on that his usual charm and offhanded attitude wasn't going to fly with this guy; Rampet had right out called him on it.

"Mr. Stark, I know you have your customary way of dealing with potential business associates, and I can respect you for that. Most people come to you with propositions on making the industry a better place when they really just want to advance their own investments by being in your favor, it can become an annoyance, and you built a system to weed out those who are worth your time and those who aren't. I know why I am here; to offer you sciences and materials which your company is in demand for, and you know why I am here; that I do not need you to keep my business from going under, but would find your partnership very beneficial. So, if you would, stop treating me like those dense louts you're accustomed too and let us get down to why we are both here."

Lawrence Rampet was straight to the point with a bit of an edge. Tony smiled, he liked this guy already.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Stark, what you are offering me is completely absurd."<p>

Tony kept himself from sputtering. "Absurd? What I'm offering you is well within generous."

Lawrence nearly gave him a pointed look, and instead raised a dark brow. "I admit that while I have not been in this business as long as yourself, I am not incompetent. Stark Industries needs what my company provides, and what you are suggesting is not worth my services."

"I've got my research done, and the Rampet Company is in surplus, you're making more than you can get rid of, like steel. How can you surplus in one of the most demanded metals?' Tony crossed his arms, feeling pleased with himself, 'Stark Industries is one of, if not the _only_ corporations that can buy enough from you so you can get a stable business trade in place."

"I think my offer is looking pretty good." Tony leaned back and waited.

The green-eyed man set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin upon entwined fingers. Giving a sigh, he looked at Tony and held him with his gaze.

"Mr. Stark, my company would not be in over-supply were it not for other big business', yours included, ordering specific materials and their amounts, only to suddenly change your minds and request something completely different like children choosing candy in a sweet shop. So now I am left with metals and resources gathering dust due to your fleeting attention-spans."

"However,' Lawrence continued, 'as you have pointed out, your company is the only one that can make use of the excess, just as well as my company is the only one that can meet the swiftness and quality of Stark Industries' needs. If my logic follows through, it seems that we are at an impasse."

Tony and Lawrence regarded each other, neither breaking eye contact. Tony picked up a sheet of paper, still not looking away, and wrote down a figure. He passed it to the man opposite of him and watched as Rampet only broke his gaze to review what Tony had written down.

"And this is . . .?"

"My final offer." said Tony with no room for negotiation.

They went back to staring at each other, expressions unreadable, and neither backing down. The oxymoron that was loud silence seemed appropriate.

Any tension that had been present was immediately stifled when Lawrence heaved an overly dramatic, exasperated sigh.

"Well Mr. Stark, you do drive a hard bargain, but it seems I've no choice but to agree to your most gracious compromise." Green eyes were light with amusement and a toothy smile warmed his features as Lawrence offered his hand to Tony for a deal.

Tony revealed a grin himself as they shook on it and both made to sign the necessary paper work for the partnership of their two businesses.

* * *

><p>"I'm glad we could come to an agreement, Mr. Stark, said Lawrence as he and Tony walked down to the lobby, Tony had accompanied him, 'you are far more reasonable than your social night-life and numerous escapades would come to suggest."<p>

It was a good natured jab, said with no malice. Even if Tony was offended by it, the man was right, hell, he was wording it courteously. You didn't get title of rich, CEO play-boy by having a private life.

"It's a curse, really,' said Tony with feigned weariness, 'I'd return the complement, but the paparazzi don't seem to have much on you Mr. Lawrence Rampet."

That brought out a smirk. "I'm a very private man, sad to say I don't see much in parading around for the world to bear witness, but even I'll come out to play if I see a good opportunity."

"Speaking of opportunities,' started the brown-eyed man, they had reached the door to the outside of the bustling lobby and Tony held it open, 'you going to that business convention next week? All the top dogs are going to be there."

Lawrence nodded in agreement. "Yes, them _and_ the tail-wagging scroungers that follow them around." They waited outside for Lawrence's car to pull around. "It is a little too eventful for my tastes, but I will be present. I can assume you will also be attending?"

"Unfortunately. I've been wrapped up in some personal stuff, so it's in my best interest to go. If I back out of the convention, I may be killed by my assistant for negligence of my company, and they'd never find my body."

Lawrence chuckled, and Tony found it to be a pleasant sound.

"Ms. Potts I gather?"

"What gave it away?"

"Well, she certainly seems like a strong willed and patient woman, muttering under her breath the dastardly things she'd do if she found you sleeping when we walked in- Ah! That's my car."

A silver Jaguar drove up while Tony silently laughed to himself, simultaneously noting that Lawrence's car, while nice, wasn't nearly as extravagant as any of his own. Maybe it was because his love of cars was only rivaled by his love of being an awesome superhero.

"It was good meeting you Mr. Stark." Said Lawrence in parting as he got into the backseat, Tony watching as the car drove away.

'Yeah,' thought Tony, 'you too.'

* * *

><p>"Where to sir?"<p>

Loki momentarily brought his attention to his driver. "Home." he simply stated, allowing his thoughts to wonder.

As he rightly knew, it hadn't been difficult to create a false persona to live under while on Midgar, the people were spectacularly blind to anything alien as long as you conformed to their accustomed social formalities, and Loki had had no trouble slipping in undetected. He'd given himself a new name, Lawrence Rampet, and thus, a new life.

Loki didn't know what he wanted to do with himself at first. He didn't want to be a 'normal working-class citizen', how terribly dull, nor did he want to take orders; he'd had more than enough of that in his life. With a little research into the communal standings of modern human culture, Loki found he wanted to make his own decisions and do something big, something fun. He wanted to be important, yet not too important.

Building his own company seemed to be exactly what he was looking for.

Patience in creating his new self, however, had proven to be difficult. Magic was easy to use, a simple flick of the wrist accompanied by a small incantation and it was all too easy for Loki to obtain what he desired, but explaining the immediate results by magic were lies he could not get caught up in, and though humans may not have been the most observant of species, Loki did not want to take any chances, so he used his powers without the carelessness he would have in Asgard.

Obviously, a new business appearing over-night would draw to much attention, so Loki decided to take a more human approach; he slowly built up of the course of two years.

A little alchemy to obtain the materials to base his company on with subtle Asgardian science to lend him an advantage and in no time, at least for a God, he had successfully been reinvented as Lawrence Rampet, owner of the Rampet Company. A new man, complete with history, if little was known about his family and past before his business, and as a starting business proprietor, he had to expand, create partnerships, make deals.

This lead Loki to Tony Stark.

The man certainly hadn't been what Loki had expected, and as little as things surprised him, it had been something of a refreshing change.

Loki had only word of mouth and rumors of the media to go on when putting together an image of Tony Stark. He had predicted someone self-indulgent, with an air of propriety over all others, what he got was a genius who didn't play by other peoples rules; it had been amusing to say the least.

Mr. Stark had shown him two faces, not that Loki minded, it was expected of people to hide behind the mask they wanted everyone else to see, a natural defense in an untrustworthy world. The first face was the trap; what Tony Stark would use to get his own read of you, a blasé rich man with a flippant attitude and little regard for who he was talking to, it would trip you up, causing you to reveal your true nature. However, if you were smart, such as Loki, or naïvely determined as some were, you would been shown the second face, a truer face of Tony Stark, the one that took you and your business seriously, disclosed to you the respect one has for another who is not there to ring him of his money and leech off his fame.

Tony Stark was an intelligent man, by Midgardian standards, and was certainly one of the most interesting people Loki had come into contact with during his life here so far.

'And maybe,' the silent trickster thought to himself, his car pulling up to the place he had called home for the past two years, 'it would not be so awful to cross paths with him again in the near future.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Hello again and thank you all who have story alerted and reviewed. I have realized that I've spelled Midgard as 'Midgar' in the last two chapters so I do apologize for that. Please continue to review and leave feedback, I'd like to know how I'm doing.**

"Duck!"

The distinct sound of glass breaking could be heard. "Owww! What th-? Steve!"

"Sorry Natalie!"

'Never should've tried to teach him golf.' Chided Tony as he desperately searched through piles and piles of the scattered papers, graphs, and blueprints that coated his lab in the Avengers mansion, 'I tried to warn her, but nooooo, Captain USA needed a hobby- Ah ha! Wait . . . crap, that's not it either.'

Determining that what he was looking for wasn't in the chaos he called a work place, Tony raced upstairs, were the sounds of Steve profusely apologizing for breaking a window with a golf ball, subsequently hitting Black Widow, who had been in front of said window, could be heard much clearer.

"Hey,' said Tony, gaining their attention, 'could we please try not to tear down my mansion with American sporting goods? And have either of you seen my new layout for a solar-powered sonic frequency generator? It's what I'm going to pitch at the Business Convention, figure it's low-tech enough, could help famers keep their crops from being eaten by bugs, you know, harmless stuff."

"Sorry Tony,' said Steve as he swept up the glass, 'I haven't seen it."

"Maybe if you weren't allergic to organization, you'd know where to find it." Widow replied nonchalantly, studying the golf ball in her hand with feigned interest.

"Uh huh,' dead-panned the Iron Man, 'and maybe if you stopped wearing so much leather, your skin wouldn't chafe so badly. Ever hear of Aloe?"

The lump where the golf ball collided with his head was totally worth it.

* * *

><p>"Bruce?" Tony's head popped in from around the door, locating the man typing away at his computer.<p>

"Yes Tony?"

"Have you seen a fancy looking layout with lots of equations and big words to generate plenty of 'Oooohs' and 'ahhhhs'?"

"Can't say I have,' replied Bruce, swiveling his chair so he could address his fellow team mate, 'have you tried the kitchen? Some of your stuff has been known to show up there."

"Good idea, thanks Bruce!"

"No problem!" called Bruce to Tony's already disappearing back.

Tony hit the kitchen, acuity aware of how much time he was running out of. He checked the microwave, under the toaster,_ in_ the toaster, looked inside the fridge, weirder things had been discovered in the fridge, it wasn't a long shot. He searched through the numerous pantries, cupboards, _the oven_ . . .

"Tony!' exclaimed a loud, cheerful voice, 'What has you so unruly this day?"

Tony whipped around and grabbed the large, Norse God of thunder.

"Thor! You wouldn't have happened to have eaten and important looking piece of paper would you?"

The blonde man regarded his shorter friend seriously for a moment before breaking out into a grin and clapping him roughly on the shoulder.

"My friend, while my appetite is great, I am afraid your papers do not appeal to me,' laughed Thor, his voice reverberating throughout the kitchen. Tony merely sighed in defeat while absently rubbing his now sore arm. 'However, do I not recall you working on something in the main room not two days ago? Perhaps what you seek resides there?"

Tony snapped out of his momentary loss, "The living room, of course! Thanks big guy!"

"Good luck, my friend,' said Thor after the brunette man, 'may your hunt prove fruitful!"

'Pepper is going to kill me.' Dreaded Tony, why was it so far from the kitchen to the living room?

Tony skidded to a halt and was greeted by the sight of Clint bashing away at a game controller, murmuring the occasional profanity, his attention completely absorb by the game. So Tony promptly shoved him of the couch, and dived into the cushions in the ongoing search for his layout sheet.

"AH!' yelped Clint, gracelessly landing on his backside, 'Tony, what the hell?"

"Late. Looking. For. Paper. Pepper- Hey! The keys to my red Viper- Going. Need. Find. Convention."

"Wait, wait, you mean that paper thing you were working on the other day?" deciphered Clint.

Tony stopped his attack on the sofa to slowly turn and hold Clint with his gaze, eyes narrowed and mouth in a line.

"Don't mess with me Robin Hood." It was a one-time warning.

Hawkeye held his hands up defense. "Calm down, it's on the black side table, under _your_ coffee mug."

Tony dashed to the side table where his layout lay in waiting. Quickly looking it over to ensure it was all there, save for the recent addition of at coffee ring, but hey, it gave the diagram character, Tony clutched it to his chest and gave a shout of "Victory!" for the entire household to hear.

"Not to question your sanity,' grumbled Clint, picking up his controller and sitting back on the couch, making to salvage whatever he could of his current level, 'but what's the hurry? You have a _jet_. You can leave whenever you feel like it."

"And I agree with you completely. However, Pepper doesn't think a private jet should let me get away with leaving a little later. She wants me to be responsible,' -Clint snorted- 'so now I have to be there at the same time as all the other big, rich business tycoons."

"Well good luck with that,' said Clint, his eyes again on his game, 'we'll keep the mansion nice and tidy for you, though no promises on Steve not taking out a priceless work of art or something, the man has a swing with a golf club that could match Thor and his hammer."

"Gee, thanks," drawled Tony as he made his way out the door and yelled out, 'try not to get yourselves killed while I'm gone!"

* * *

><p>The drive to his private hanger was a quick one when Tony politely ignored the speed limit. Pepper met him right outside the plane, looking very happy that Tony arrived on time and during the flight Pepper did what Tony liked to call 'debriefing' where she would tell him who was there, what was there, and to, in <em>all<em> ways, behave himself while there.

Two and a half hours of flight and information later Tony Stark was at the Business-Co Convention, a place for industry leaders of all kinds to make deals and invest, to shake hands with future partners and enemies, to help your company grow or watch it burn, to walk around all day with a painfully fake smile and talk to people you'd sooner ignore. For three days.

Tony hadn't even walked five steps into the hotel before he was trying to keep from hanging himself with his two-hundred dollar tie.

"Looks like you have had quite the morning." A smooth, sophisticated voice, dashed with a hint of amusement, brought Tony from his suicidal musings.

Tony turned to his left and was met with the appealing sight of Lawrence Rampet, green tie matching his eyes and pale complexion standing out against his black suit. For a man who didn't crave attention, Lawrence certainly knew how to get it.

Or maybe it was just Tony.

"Yeah, I had to play hide-and-go-seek with some paperwork,' said Tony, 'but my day seems to be improving." He finished, leaving Lawrence to interpret that however he would.

The man merely shook his head and smiled. "Enjoy what you can of today Mr. Stark, for tomorrow and the following days will be nothing but droning voices and unpleasant small talk. I'm still at a loss for how I'm going to bear it."

"Alcohol,' Tony replied, 'lots and lots of alcohol."

Lawrence nodded in agreement and began to walk towards the elevators that lead to the rooms for the convention goers. Tony walked with him, knowing the hotel staff would have his bags in his room before he got there.

"So,' began Tony conversationally, stepping inside the elevator with his dark-haired companion, watching Lawrence press the button for his assigned level, '_cool, we're on the same floor_' 'what have you been up to for the past few weeks"?

"Not much. Simply preparing my company for the onslaught that is Stark Industries, yourself?"

Tony grinned and mimed a thoughtful look. 'Let's see, saving the world, stopping madmen in colorful costumes, fighting with my fellow superheroes over the last slice of pizza.'

"Oh, I haven't done much either, doing my best to stay out of trouble and all. Don't want to be on the receiving end of Pepper's fury."

"Nor would I." agreed Lawrence. The elevator came to a jerking stop and both men stepped out into the warmly furnished halls of the third floor.

"Well Mr. Stark, it would be nice to continuing talking, but I have much to do in planning for tomorrow. I do hope to see you around." Said Lawrence, face momentarily flashing to annoyance at the headache he was sure to get come the next day.

"Oh, I'm sure you will Mr. Rampet." Lawrence bowed his head in parting and walked to whatever room was his. Tony only slightly disappointed that it was in the opposite direction of his own.

Walking on the fashionably patterned floors of the hall, Tony was grateful there was _someone_ he could have a little fun with, even if it was just playful banter. None of his other 'super-pals' could have come, even if they wanted too, which they didn't, and Tony didn't blame them.

He had been worried about leaving the other Avengers at first, not that they couldn't manage by themselves without him . . . most of the time, Tony just didn't like the weight of something going wrong and him not being there on his conscience. But the others assured him they'd be fine, Widow even having the gull to say he could use a vacation, because yeah, this snooze-fest of old pocket-liners was right on par with drinking scotch on a yacht on Malibu beach, but Tony eventually caved. Not that he'd had much of a choice; the Iron Man doubted an army of fish-people equipped with death-rays could have convinced Pepper to let him stay.

Tony got to his room, noticing his luggage was there, and flopped down on his bed, realizing for the first time how tired he felt.

Hmm, with his fellow Avengers saying it would all be good, and the promise of Pepper loosening up on the whole 'you're not taking care of your company', and an ally in Lawrence Rampet, maybe Tony _could_ get some fun, relaxation even, out of the next three days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I actually wanted this chapter out yesterday, because the Avengers trailer hit the net yesterday. It's so awesome. Anyway, thank you all for the reviews and alerts. Please continue to leave comments and feed back, it helps me to improve and lets me know what you think.**

'What the hell was I thinking?'

Tony was tempted to replace that last bit with 'drinking' because after a whole day and a half of this business convention and its guests, Tony figured he must have been drinking something to think for a second that he could enjoy a minute of this soul-sucking black-hole of boredom.

Had this been any other situation, Tony would have left, no reasonable force on Earth could have kept him in that hotel, but apparently Pepper Potts wasn't a reasonable force, and thanks to Pepper's insistence and his promise to her that he'd stay the full term, Tony, however unintentionally, did screw himself into three days of suits, cheap laughter, and some really awful cologne.

Tony loved that woman, he really did, but people had been shipped to different countries for less.

In all fairness, not everyone attending the convention was unbearable. Tony had spoken with quite a few good professional men and women who had real personalities and some interesting business opportunities that Tony was serious about looking into, some true assets for Stark Industries. But, for every decent person, there were ten excruciating ones. The ones that lie through their teeth every other word, the ones that couldn't take a hint, the ones that thought they were _so_ clever with their underhanded comments, yeah, Tony was reaching the end of his rope with this place.

And the Avenger wished he could say that Lawrence was some sliver of light in this dismal place, but he'd hardly had seen the guy. Their schedules for the convention were to different, each going to different meetings, different presentations, at different times. They'd been able to 'hi' to each other in passing, but that was it.

Really, what had he been drinking?

So now Tony sat at a long, glossy oak table, bored to death, with eight other well-dressed peers who were also bored to death, listening to some guy- Adberg-something?- go on and on about how his plan for oil consumption savings for business seemed expensive now, but the money back would be well worth it later. Yeah, like Tony hadn't heard _that_ before.

Never so badly had Tony wanted some giant robot to attack the city, or some villain threaten to take over the world, at this point Tony was willing to take a cat stuck in a tree. But, maybe it wasn't all bad; after all, Lawrence was sitting across from him, 'Simple grey suit, white shirt, no tie, looks just as bored as the rest of us.' Noted Tony, at least he has someone to be miserable with.

Tony also saw that the ivory-skinned man was one of the few left finishing off his lunch, making Tony wish that he'd had the mind to save some food from the groups lunch break so he could at least eat while his brain pooled out of his ears from the monotone voice of Adberg-whatever-his name-is.

A brief glance at the clock and Tony was convinced some higher force at work was messing with time, because there was no way that he'd been sitting here, listening to Adberg-what's-his-face at the head of the table, droning on for only an hour. The man wasn't even using a power-point!

If Pepper ever complained about him being too extravagant in showing off new Stark Tech, then Tony was going to explain to her that it was just the universe compensating for the short, mild-aged, balding man up front who couldn't rile-up a crowd by stripping down naked and screaming murder.

Tony was positive that everyone in the room had to be half-asleep by this point and made to do so himself . . .

"Hrm, um, as, uh, as I was, hrrm, saying . . ."

. . .Until Adberg -Adbergly maybe?- began tripping over his words.

Tony forced himself to stop spacing-out and looked at Adberg-he'd-remember-his-name-eventually. The man had gone red, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and Tony could see him sweat a bit while tugging at his collar.

'Huh, that's weird', thought the Iron Man, 'he was fine a minute ago.'

Now with something to hold his attention Tony looked at the two people seated at the table who were closest to Adberg-insert-name-here. One, a woman in her mid-forties with a little too much make-up was gazing blindly at point on the wall in front of her; Tony suspected she'd mastered sleeping with her eyes open. The other was a man, blonde hair, younger than Tony, and was solely focused doodling on an envelope like it was going to be hung up in a museum next to Van Gogh's work.

Tony looked back to Adberg . . .ston?- and noticed the man's eyes were darting back and forth to some point to the left of Tony, and though he was no Sherlock Holmes, Tony figured there in-lay the man's problem so he discreetly moved his gaze over and was greeted to a sight that had Tony's brown eyes widen in shock.

Lawrence, not a few minutes ago, had been eating aimlessly away the leftovers of his salad. Now he was, well Tony was having a hard time registering what Lawrence was doing.

The man's posture was no different from anyone else's at the table; uninterested. His elbow was resting on the glossy surface and his head was relaxing on a loose fist. However, it would seem he wasn't entirely finished with his earlier meal. Lawrence's free hand was slowly dragging a cherry across his pale lips, and not in the 'I'm absent-mindedly chewing on my pencil' way, but a 'is this giving you any ideas?' way.

The contrast between the bright red of the cherry and Lawrence's light complexion was something like art; it drew the eyes, though the difference in color was hardly the only thing keep Tony's attention. Lawrence would move the candied fruit from one corner of his subtle smirk to the other in a leisurely fashion, occasionally opening his mouth a bit to graze his pearl-white teeth across it's red skin, as though to eat it, only to seemingly decide mid-way that the cherry wasn't quite ready to be eaten _just_ yet.

And though it was hard to see from his angle, even though Tony was across the table from him, he was pretty sure Lawrence's gaze was holding Adberg-blank's, like a predator to its prey, daring the other man to look away.

Suddenly, like Tony's unwavering gaze had called him, Lawrence's bright green eyes met with Tony's brown, a mischievous glint held in their depths. He gave Tony a sly wink and returned to staring at his victim, who was now sweating profusely, nearly as red as the cherry he was being teased with, and making stuttering noises.

"Mr. Adbergen?"

Someone had finally noticed Adbergen's melt-down, Tony was happy to finally know the guy's name, and to keep from being discovered as Adbergen's source of delicious discomfort, Lawrence popped the cherry into his mouth and gave a smile. A visible relief could be seen washing over the stout man being released from his torment.

And it had seemed that Lawrence was finished with his fun until his eyes locked with Tony's once more with a look that said 'now watch this' and brought his finger and thumb to his lips, deliberately pulling out the cherry stem . . . twisted in a knot.

Adbergen stumbled into the wall behind him, jostling the woman with too much make up awake and drawing a couple of people over to see if he was okay.

Lawrence held a look of complete innocence throughout the rest of the meeting, which had been shortened due to Adbergen's refusal to look anyone in the eye, much less Lawrence's general direction, and Tony had to hold his sides, desperately trying to stifle his laughter from one of the funniest and sexiest displays he'd seen.

* * *

><p>"Hey boss, how's it going?"<p>

Pepper's voice had never sounded sweeter. It was the end of the second day and Tony was going over requests, rejections, and any other paper work that had to be finished before the end of the convention. He had to take a break after re-reading the same paragraph five times, the words started to look Latin.

And in swooped Pepper, a bag full of Chinese take-out in hand. She maneuvered to where Tony was seated and placed the bag on the desk, avoiding any miscellaneous documents.

"Pepper, I could kiss you."

"Try it Tony and you'll be on the receiving end of my self-defense classes."

Tony smiled at her not entirely serious tone and gathered all his papers into one area, the promise of food offering a boost of energy.

"So Ms. Potts, care to join me?" The dark circle forming under Tony's eyes revealed how much he'd been working, and after a few hours stuck in a room doing labor, some friendly company over diner sounded wonderful.

"Sorry Tony, I would, but I've got plans tonight." Pepper said, her voice giving that she really was sorry she couldn't stay.

Tony gave her a quick once over.

"Hmm, dark lipstick, shiny earrings, nice outfit, but not so nice that you couldn't pull it off as casual. You've got a date. Anyone I know?"

Pepper gave him a look. "Yes I do have a date, and no, you don't know him"

"You're not going to tell me about him, are you? Do I embarrass you?"

Pepper saw right through Tony's attempt at looking hurt and rolled her eyes. Glancing at her watch, Pepper knew if she stuck around any longer she'd be late.

"I've got to go Tony. Keep up the hard work and don't forget to eat,' reminded Pepper as she made to leave, swiftly fixing herself up in the mirror, 'you only have tomorrow left."

"Easy for you to say." mumble Tony, but stood up and gave her a small hug. "But seriously, thanks for the food."

Pepper gave him a smile, "No problem boss." and walked out the door.

Not wanting to eat in his room, Tony picked up the Chinese and left his cluttered area, some fresh air and a change of scenery would do him good.

Venturing down to lower floors Tony searched for a place to eat. It was fairly late, so the people still walking around the hotel were sparse. The CEO wondered around a bit longer, food in hand calling to his stomach, when he passed by one of the public meeting rooms and saw a certain someone hunched over paperwork, sleeves rolled up, looking much like Tony had minutes prior.

"Knock, Knock."

Lawrence startled and looked up, emerald eyes focusing on the new comer. Tony bit back a smile, amused that he'd managed to surprise the regal man.

Tony held up the bag. "Can I interest you in some noodles and orange chicken? It's not as sexy as cherries . . ."

Lawrence gave Tony the benefit of a semi-sheepish look and graciously accepted his offer.

Luckily, Pepper thought Tony was starving himself so there was more than enough food between the two of them. Add that with some conversation and they had settled into a comfortable atmosphere, paperwork momentarily forgotten.

* * *

><p>"And what exactly are you accusing me of Mr. Stark?"<p>

"Oh, just mild sexual harassment, really I feel kind of sorry for Adbergen, you almost made him faint."

Lawrence was trying not to laugh through his food at how _not_ sorry Tony sounded.

"Oh come now, I was not going to spend another hour listening to that man drone on. I'd like to think my interference was a benefit to all in the room. You should be a little more grateful for my chivalrous act."

Tony chuckled as his pick at his rice with his chop sticks. "You're right. I never thought I could actually be bored to death, but man was Adbergen coming close."

Lawrence consented and returned to his box of noodles, Tony marveling at how someone could eat so imperially, moving with a grace, a confidence one wouldn't associate with eating food and not a speck of sauce on his white button-up shirt. It'd have to be the kind of mannerisms you're raised with.

"So,' began Tony, 'I still don't know a whole lot about you Lawrence. Got any family?"

The darkening of those green eyes, thinning of mouth, and abrupt tensing of shoulders told Tony that he couldn't have asked a worse question.

Tony coughed awkwardly. "Uh, sorry, I didn't . . ."

Lawrence raised a hand to silence him. "It is quite alright Mr. Stark, you were not aware of the weight of your question. You had no reason not to ask it." The stiffness in Lawrence's voiced had Tony begging to differ.

'Smooth Tony,' the Iron Avenger thought to himself, 'real smooth.'

The comfortable feeling was gone now and Tony hoped Lawrence wouldn't take his screw-up too personally.

"I was not . . . the favored child of my family,' began Lawrence, his food forgotten and fingers threaded in his lap, 'my father, he was a powerful man, and preferred his elder son to his youngest."

Tony put his food down too and waited for Lawrence to continue.

"My older brother, he received our father's affections so easily, could do no wrong and our father was proud to call him his son. I, it seemed, had to work so much more, strive that much harder, just to step into my brother's shadow."

Lawrence paused for a moment and inhaled deeply.

"I was envious of my brother, but I did not want to replace him. I simply wanted to be seen as his equal, to have what our father gave to him so effortlessly. I couldn't be as loved as my brother by playing by the same rules, so I went to some . . . extremes to gain my father's attention, to contend for his love. My plans, however, fell apart and my family and I are no longer on speaking terms." Lawrence finished, looking as though he was trying to garner some amusement from this situation.

"I suppose I could never have truly obtained his approval anyway."

Tony gave a questioning glance and Lawrence offered a crooked smile.

"I was, uh, adopted."

"Oh." Tony said lamely, something of an awkward silence filling the room and Lawrence took the opportunity to look away.

"Well, um, I'm not saying I understand your situation completely, but I can sympathize."

Lawrence went back to facing Tony, curious expression nudging Tony to go on.

"My dad, the late and great Howard Stark, he sounds like yours, strong, powerful, oblivious to the needs of his kids. My dad was so caught up in technology, in making the world a better place, catering to the problems of the nation, that connecting with his son was an afterthought."

"But I tried. Did a lot of stuff to get his attention, hell I was a prodigal kid who built a circuit board when I was four years old, but it was never enough for a 'I'm proud of you Tony' so I kept to my studies, tried to be everything my dad was, thought if I could be as great as him, then he'd finally see me."

Tony sighed, trying to keep from digging at old wounds. "But he died, and for the longest time, I hated him. There I was, trying to show him that I could be the son he wanted, and he dies. It wasn't that he'd been young, just that I never felt I was good enough to have the name Stark."

"However, a couple of years or so ago, I came across some stuff, stuff that showed me how much my dad really loved me, that he did notice his son, all the work he was pouring himself into, it was for _my_ future. So if there's one thing I regret, it's not talking to him before he was gone." Tony had to force his hands to relax, just realizing how hard they'd been clenched into fists.

The silence was back, though this time it was filled with a contemplative air and Lawrence was staring at Tony with such a gaze that Tony was sure the dark-haired man was trying to look into him, searching for something that couldn't be named.

"Thank you Mr. Stark." Said Lawrence, finding whatever it was he was looking for.

Tony recognized it as an understanding. A familiar thing that connected them through the differences of their lives, that thing they could empathize with each other. It just turns out theirs was daddy issues.

"You know, you can call me Tony, I think we're past the honorifics."

Lawrence gave a small smile. "All in good time, Mr. Stark."

Both men returned to their food, now cold, and Tony couldn't help but notice the gravity of their deep exchange was still hanging over their heads like a cloud. Not one to like sitting in a serious situation when it wasn't necessary, Tony made to lighten the mood.

"I bet,' Tony began, leaning in with faux momentousness, 'that if you did the whole 'I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue' thing at a family diner, you'd defiantly get your dad's attention then, hell, you got mine."

Lawrence let out an honest laugh and threw a fried wanton at Tony.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thank you everyone who has reviewed and alerted, I'm glad the story is being recieved so well, so please continue to review and comment, I enjoy hearing what you all have to say.**

**Check out this excellent picture of Loki with the cherry by BrownEyedRecluse; pics. livejournal .com /brwneyedrecluse/pic/00002991**

Faint light shown throughout the furnished hotel room from curtains that hadn't been closed the prior night, reflecting off polished wooden surfaces and slowly enveloping a lone figure gracing the bed.

The light shining brightly behind his closed eyes demanded Loki to rise and begin the day. The trickster opened his eyes gradually and moved into a seated position as steadily as his sleep-worn muscles would allow. Never one to be considered a morning person, Loki permitted himself a few minutes to gain consciousness, waiting for the slight burst of aggravation that accompanied his waking to pass.

Loki glanced around the room. Today was the last day of the business convention, thus the final time a new morning would greet him with its simple furnishings and unremarkable design. Loki let out a yawn and stretched his arms, deciding he was as motivated as he was going to be to deal with the onslaught of menial people and their petty excuses for business expertise.

Unwrapping his lower-half from the cocoon of blankets and sheets, the noticeably cool air brought goose bumps across his ivory-skin and had him miss the warmth of the covers immediately, Loki stood up, feet trudging across the carpeted floor to the bathroom.

A quick shower and brushing of teeth later, morning breath was hardly his most attractive feature, Loki went about getting dressed. Rummaging through the clothes he had brought, Loki decided on a dark green suit with charcoal-grey button-up and black tie, taking time to chuckle at his obvious choice of color. Green was a hard habit to break when it had been an integral part of his wardrobe his entire life.

Loki mused about the day ahead as his hands went to the mechanical task of arranging buttons and fiddling with his tie.

The last couple of days had been bearable- but only just. It reminded Loki of the long, tedious studies he'd gone through on Asgard. The teachers that didn't want to teach an unruly child who had the tendency to change their hair rather obnoxious colors, yet gritted their teeth and wore the façade of being fortunate to teach the future prince of Asgard, and the child who didn't want to sit through the lessons of mentors he knew were infuriated with his antics, but plastered on false smiles and addressed him with fabricated politeness regardless.

Loki may have garnered the secondary title 'King of Lies', but when both sides of the board were aware of each other's artificial outer appearances, the masks of civility held no reason to be worn. And Loki preferred honesty to a lie that was only put in place for implied courtesy's sake.

However, if any good did come out of this abysmal weekend, it would be the company of Tony Stark; a man who was usual in an unusual way.

Really, Loki thought he had understood Stark well enough. He was a Midgardian man, same as any other, though he possessed a charm that many lacked, he was serious when the situation called for it, yet didn't contort to the guidelines of society, he was unabashed, and cared very little for what lesser people said about him.

Not to mention Tony Stark had an excellent sense of humor of which Loki could commiserate with.

But the enigma that was Tony Stark was far more complex, as he showed Loki the previous night.

Briefly surfacing from his thoughts, Loki realized he'd managed to trip over his own fingers and knotted his tie rather than tied it; a rather uncommon absence of grace on his part, so he started over and went to slowly working his fingers into a familiar rhythm and let his mind drift off again.

Hmmm, Loki was still unsure as to why he had confided in Stark last night. The man had seemed content to leave his unintentionally painful question alone, yet Loki seized the opportunity and told him anyway. The God of Mischief hadn't ever spoken so openly about himself, not to anyone, much less a man he'd only known a few weeks.

Tony Stark, not only had he listened to Loki's . . . past issues, but he disclosed an understanding and offered his own difficulties as a mutual bond between them, Stark merely showed that Loki's problems, while common, were not to be overlooked or pushed aside. Though Loki still did not regret his actions against Asgard, or forgive Odin, Tony Stark's simple gesture made Loki feel . . . better, and Loki felt closer to someone than he had in many years, even if their connection was one shared with every other human being on the planet.

A look in the mirror and Loki decided he was presentable for the day, smoothing out any unseemly creases in his jacket. Heading for the door, Loki couldn't help but feel faintly more optimistic about the oncoming day.

* * *

><p>The sounds of corks being popped from champagne bottles were heard echoing throughout the room, joyous cheers accompanying them. Glasses were raised, speeches were said, hands were clasped in well-meaning partings, and Tony threw himself right into the high-spirited atmosphere, because <em>thank God it was finally over<em>.

The hotel scheduled a party send-off to the business convention goers at the end of the final day, which was now in full-swing, and as badly as Tony had wanted to leave, he deserved a celebration for what he'd been through the last three days.

Grabbing a glass from a near-by waitress, Tony began to relax and mingle. Even if he didn't like half the people currently socializing in the room, Tony couldn't bring himself to care. The convention was over, he could leave whenever he felt like it, he didn't have to deal with devious company owners in large groups anymore, and the Iron Man felt pretty awesome. His deal with Pepper worked out, only costing him a fraction of his soul, and Tony was going to celebrate with the rest of the 'grateful this thing is finished' people.

A little alcohol and conversation later, Tony began eyeing the crowd, wondering if Lawrence had stayed or hit the road the moment the convention was officially declared done. Not that Tony would blame him if he had.

But as his luck would have it, seated at the bar with a glass of barely-touched drink, was the man on Tony's mind. Weaving through the masses, narrowly missing a champagne glass pyramid, Tony made it to the bar and stopped just short of his green-eyed target.

"Come here often?"

Lawrence looked up and Tony saw the corners of his mouth twitch as he offered Tony the seat beside his.

"Trust me Mr. Stark; if I have my way, next year I will inconveniently been unable to attend this gregarious convention, it will truly be a shame."

Tony chuckled and settled onto the bar stool, flagging down the bar tender for another drink.

The two made easy banter, talking about the good and the bad of the convention and what plans they had afterward. Tony found himself simply enjoying Lawrence's company, the way he took delicate sips of wine, to his regal movements, and the particular glint his eyes would adopt when he was thinking something particularly mischievous; Tony's quick wit just counteracting Lawrence's clever off-handed comments.

Tony's attention, however, shifted when someone in control of the remote upped the volume on the wide-screen above the bar to be heard over the music.

"_Today, the Avengers were locked in a ferocious battle against the villainous Victor Von Doom, a.k.a. Doctor Doom. Doom's intentions are still unknown, but his breaking into a nuclear facility clearly has a part in any future plans. While the heroic team was unable to apprehend Doom, twenty-something of his henchmen were captured and are expected to undergo serious interrogation as to his whereabouts."_

The screen flashed from the reporter to a ruined street, covered in scrap metal, broken glass, and a strewn cars, then to clips of the Avengers.

"_While the damage to the area is severe, it could have been much worse. Thanks to the Avengers, we can sleep knowing our city and its inhabitants are protected from threats such as Doctor Doom."_

Those who were listening cheered, some giving applause, Tony just shook his head, already forming comments for his teammates on how five of Earth's mightiest heroes couldn't capture _one_ bad guy. Oh yes, his relentless teasing would be sweet.

Tony turned back to Lawrence who was wearing quite the unimpressed look.

"Not one for superheroes?"

The man in green merely shrugged his shoulders and sipped his drink.

"I wouldn't say that, Mr. Stark, I am very content in the knowledge that I'm safe from super criminals and giant monsters courtesy of the Avengers. I am, however, 'not one for' placing my life in the hands of a group of people who are only defined as 'super' by their potent abilities."

Tony could only give a thoughtful 'hmm' as he took a moment to drink his bubbly champagne.

"Why do you say that?" Tony stared at Lawrence as he waited for the other man to elaborate.

Lawrence absently traced the rim of his glass for a few moments, seemingly to try to find the best way to explain himself.

"Do you know much about mythological Gods?"

Tony's mind briefly went to Thor and said no.

"You see, in many incarnations, such as Greek or Roman, Gods were beings that held tremendous power; abilities to control weather, create monsters, bend elements, to live forever. It was with those powers that the Gods elevated themselves above man, claiming themselves superior in all ways. Yet, if you look into the stories, you can see that these self-proclaimed 'superior beings' were quick to anger, would become jealous, took on many lovers, found pleasure in food and drink, in beautiful clothing and material objects. The only reason these Gods differed from man was their power, take that away, and they are very much human, susceptible to the same emotions and desires."

"In proclaiming our modern-day superheroes as our eternal protectors, what are we doing? We are ascending them to a level of Gods, believing that they are some indestructible force, unaffected by basic mortal needs. The world wants the perfect guardians, but it must remember that the Avengers are anything but faultless."

Lawrence stopped, but Tony didn't want him to, suddenly wanting to hear insight on his team from a man who wasn't Nick Fury or random villain of the week.

"And what problems do you think the Avengers have?" Tony tried to sound nonchalant about it, but he really was curious.

Lawrence tapped a pale finger against his chin in thought. "Well, why don't we start with the Black Widow and Hawkeye? Both we can assume are human, showing no signs of any super abilities. They rely on well-versed hand-to-hand combat, quick reflexes, guns, bows, and other such weapons. One could say their physical stamina is their weakness, their fault, as they are simply human. Why is a regular human who protects another regular human considered so omnipotent now? Is a fancy name and flashy costume all it takes?"

"Then we move to perhaps the most notorious of the group, the Hulk. A being that often does more damage than good. The Hulk can't be controlled by any outside force, and has no control over himself, he is driven by rage and is left to wreak havoc until he pacifies, he is part of a team than can't treat him like a rational member and that makes him dangerous to them, himself, and the rest of us."

"Next is Captain America, a man who has built his entire identity personifying the hopes, dreams, and beliefs of a nation. True, his has enhanced abilities, but he carries the weight of a country on his shoulders, revealing this personal responsibility every time his name is said. Captain America is a symbol, and eventually, the obligation of being one will affect him."

"Now there is Thor,' Tony wasn't sure, but he thought he heard something like contempt when Lawrence said Thor's name, 'Thor is the seamless example of a being with power playing at being a God. A man who claims himself to be the God of Thunder, yet he is as much a victim to the selfish desires and arrogance that plagues any human he says he is above."

There was a pause and Lawrence appeared to be finished, never the less, Tony had to ask;

"What about Iron Man? You haven't introduced him to your relentless scrutiny. Got a soft spot for a man in an ingeniously, technologically advanced suit of armor?" Tony waggled his eyebrows a bit and Lawrence scoffed and smirked.

"Oh yes, Iron Man, how forgetful of me. Hmmm, he wasn't part of that news report, was he? Perhaps his fault could be negligence of his fellow teammates?" Tony cold only wince into his glass.

"No, Iron Man, saying he is human, is a man in a robotic suit. Wires can be fried, electronics can be cracked, and iron can be scrapped and shredded and broken, so when you pry open that protective layer, all you are left with is a solitary man. Tell me; are a few inches of skillfully rendered metal enough to protect everyone?"

The air surrounding the two seemed to vanish and Tony was oddly focused on Lawrence, hanging onto his every word, following the green eyes that weren't settling on any particular thing, while Lawrence seemed to be elsewhere, pulling his words from an enclosed place, not entirely aware of what he threading into his speech.

"You see? Those very weaknesses, be they physical or emotional, drag those superheroes to our level of vulnerability. Why would I want someone who is no stronger than I to be labeled my constant defense against the evil residing in this world? I can only place that trust and that duty in myself, because, when weight of one's life becomes too much to bear, I'm not going to risk a cry for help falling on deaf ears. You see Tony; I can only have faith in myself."

Then silence.

Tony didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was the way Lawrence's cool voice tapered off into nothing, his words solidifying like some inescapable truth he had no choice but to accept. Maybe it was what Tony was seeing in those emerald-eyes, a pain so deep it had barely begun to scar over, yet was efficiently smothered when threatening to breach the surface. Maybe it was that Lawrence had finally said Tony's name, the syllables stringing from that voice made it sound as though the name had a greater purpose.

Maybe it was all of the above.

Whatever the reason or reasons, Tony leaned forward, the space between the two men rapidly dissipating, and brought his lips to Lawrence's, never using the second it would have taken to consider that this may have been a very dumb idea.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Continuous thanks for the reviews and alerts this story is receiving, though I must ask, is anyone interested in me writting in some M-Rated stuff? I only ask because it's been inquired on. I hadn't really planned on doing so, but I wouldn't be against the idea. So please, let me know what you think. Review and critique are always helpful.**

**Another art by BrownEyedRecluse, Tony kissing Loki, it's amazing. http: /pics. livejournal. com/ brwneyedrecluse/pic/ 00003d85**

Loki considered himself to be of the analytical mind, and so he generally knew the result of any situation, but it would seem, when concerning one Tony Stark, Loki had been wrong in believing he could determine the outcome of circumstances involving said man.

Because of all the things he expected, Tony Stark kissing him had not been amongst them.

Loki assumed Tony would laugh the sudden seriousness off and move to more approachable topics with light discussion and drink, eventually continuing into the night, until one or both of them decided it was time to leave, then they would say their customary farewells and part ways.

The warm lips caressing his own had proven Loki to be very, _very_ mistaken.

When one lives as many life times as Loki has, time becomes a perpetual entity, it's always there, but he never truly feels its passing. Now, however, time has slowed just short of stopping, and Loki has never been more aware of the precious moments that slip by. Every sense seems heightened as little sparks run down every one of his nerves and crowd Loki's head with every kind of sensation that his mind goes blank in retaliation.

The trickster was at a loss as to what to do. His mind refused to emerge from its inactive state, yet he felt very much aware, aware that he should be angry to some extent for Tony presuming that he could initiate such an intimate display of affection, but couldn't quite feel past its tenderness; soft, undemanding, but not pitying. It would be so easy, to bask in such comfort, and Loki's eyes began to close, trying the temptation to let go . . .

Until Loki realized what it was he was doing and pushed Tony back, not roughly, even by Midgardian standards, but the force felt jarring nonetheless.

Perhaps, to the other man's credit, Tony had the decency to look guilty, keeping to the arms-length distance now between them, and made to speak, his mouth moving to likely form some kind of apology, a swift excuse.

But Loki didn't wait to hear it, the air thinned and the green-eyed deity was trying with his best proficiency to keep from outwardly panicking. So, with a neutral expression brought forth from years of practice, Loki rose from his seat and promptly strode out of the room, thoughts spinning in endless cycles and destination set on the outside, never once audacious enough to meet Tony's eyes.

Loki left the party room and glanced about the lounge and spotted the door, eyeing it with as much reverence as a drowning man would a safety-line were it thrown to him.

His thoughts berating him, Loki could not get away from Tony Stark fast enough, nearly knocking a woman over in his haste.

'How?,' Loki demanded, immaculate nails biting into the pale skin of balled fists, the lack of sufficient pressure barely keeping them from tasting blood, 'How can a simple man get under my skin so effortlessly? How can he bring the truth from my lips with such ease when others couldn't come close with brute-force? How can he mesmerize me with something as unpretentious as a kiss?'

Finally breaking free from the confines of the hotel building, Loki let out a shaky breath, allowing the cold night air to wash over him. Its familiarity wrapped around his body, acting as a shield against his confusion, its chill lulling Loki into a detached state, providing both a welcome sanctuary and a looming barrenness.

* * *

><p>Tony set to find the nearest hardened, flat surface and bang his head repeatedly off of it. Oh, look, a convenient bar table.<p>

Tony hadn't known what he would've expected when kissing Lawrence if he'd thought about it first, but what he got was surprising, and not in the least unwanted. Lawrence's lips were cool and soft, a contrast to his own which were warmer and slightly chapped from habitual biting when thinking on new inventions. Tony could best describe it as being in the eye of a storm; calm, serene, but the possibility of danger lurking nearby.

It was a feeling Tony could have drifted in forever.

Until he was hit with a particularly hard dose of reality when Lawrence shoved him back, improbability donning his features, immediately to be covered with an impassive look.

And Tony had wanted to say something, to tell Lawrence he was sorry, but nothing came out, though the green-eyed man hadn't given him much of a chance, exiting the room as fast as his dignity would allow.

Tony thought about following Lawrence out, but he figured that the only thing he'd come away with after Lawrence got over from his initial shock would be a black eye. So wallowing in his stupidity it was then.

After a few thuds, followed by a deserved mutter of 'stupid' or sardonic 'good job genius' and the occasional worried look from the bartender, a hand descended to halt his battle against the wooden bar top.

"Tony?" Pepper's questioning voice, which meant it was Pepper's hand on his shoulder, though it was hard to tell, currently face-planting the bar and all.

"Yes Pepper?"

"Why are bashing your head against the bar? And have you seen Lawrence Rampet recently? I saw him in the lobby after he almost ran into me; the guy seemed a little freaked, didn't even notice I was there."

Tony grimaced and slowly raised his head to face Pepper, hoping he didn't look as shamefaced as he felt.

Nothing seems to get by Pepper however, and those blue-grey eyes narrowed in suspicion, manicured hands settled on her hips.

Tony did his best not to shrink back, as it would be unwise with Pepper, she could smell _fear_.

Her voice was low, underlined with a not-so-subtle warning for Tony to tread very carefully, and each word was said clearly, annunciated slowly, so Tony could feel the impact of each syllable as the threat is was intended to be.

"_What. Did. You. Do_?"

* * *

><p>"I can't <em>believe<em> you!"

It had been like this for most of his flight back home, the only times when it wasn't was when Pepper had to take a pause for breath, or to come up with more elaborate ways to tell Tony he'd screwed up.

The Avengers mansion was a large place, but Pepper's currently scathing voice carried easily, and Tony didn't really care. If he had to be reprimanded this late, let everyone else be woken up at this hour, after all, misery loves company.

Tony had made it as far as the main living room and fell to the couch face first, pointlessly hoping he'd sink into the cushions, where he could be alone and tell _himself_ how much of an ass he was. Pepper branding it into his skull was quite unnecessary.

"Tony! Don't get immature on me! This could turn into something serious!"

Ah. She'd caught up with him.

"Pepper, Tony? What time is it? Something bad happen?"

Since Tony was only interested in showing the fabric of the sofa cushion his guilt, he didn't raise his head, but from the sounds of it, Bruce had been roused from sleep by the raised voice of Pepper's anger. The footsteps Tony could hear the floor above told him the scientist wasn't the only one.

"Guys?' that was Widow, meant Steve probably wasn't too far away, 'What's going on?"

"Yeah,' there Mr. America was, right on cue, 'is everything alright?"

"No.' Pepper took a breath, 'No, everything is not alright. Tony figured it was okay to sexually assault one of his business partners!"

"Sounds like Tony." Clint. The bastard.

"It was just a kiss!" came Tony's muffled voice; he had to defend himself at some point.

Pepper let out a large sigh. "You don't get it Tony . . . and sit up when I'm talking to you." Tony ruefully sat up and faced Pepper, feeling very much like he was five years old.

"If you offended him, Rampet could pull out of your business deal, and believe it or not, that'd actually be a significant loss to the company. Not to mention he _could_ sue you. With today's laws it's possible and with your promiscuity, who wouldn't believe him?"

"She's got a point." Tony sent a glare to Clint, now feeling like a _scorned_ five year old and wishing that everybody would just go away and let him be scolded in peace.

"Ms. Potts is true in her words Tony,' Oh great, Thor's joining the party, 'you should not be so forward in courting. Even to the most intimate of beings, unwelcome affections can be most distasteful."

Tony hid his face in his hands and groaned, everyone else in the room looking amused to some degree, Natalie concealed her smirk with a yawn while Clint grinned, taking delight in Tony's mortification. Pepper merely put her hand to her forehead, staving off an oncoming headache.

"Alright,' said the Iron Man, long since defeated, 'I'll drop by his office tomorrow and apologize; no one needs to be offended or go to jail. Can I please go to sleep now? Or are we all going to attend a seminar on why not to kiss business associates? Will I be a guest speaker?"

Pepper gave him a heated look, warning him of future consequences should he not keep his word, but conceded and left for home and the others shuffled off to return to whatever nighttime activities they had been interrupted from.

Tony waited until everybody was gone to slowly make to way to his room, not even bothering to undress as he went through the door and onto his bed, its familiar coziness not soothing him in the slightest.

Not wanting to be a victim to the thoughts and feelings plaguing his brain, Tony closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep, dreading the challenge the following morning was going to bring, but holding onto his final conclusion.

'I'm not sorry I kissed him.'


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Continuous thanks to all who've alerted and reviewed. So far, no one seems to have a problem if I were to up this story to M-Rating, still don't know if I can incorporate it, but it's good to know how people feel. Please continue to review and leave feedback, I do enjoy it.**

Tony's right thumb taped the steering wheel anxiously; he hadn't slept well (not surprising) and made for an early start, not being able to stand waiting any longer than needed for his and Lawrence's 'talk'. So Tony threw on the first casual outfit he could find and hit the road towards Rampet Corporations, which left him in a car for forty-five minutes with nothing but his thoughts to keep company. Never a good thing.

Along the way Tony tried to form some kind of plan, the right way to apologize. He was torn between what he wanted to do and what he probably should do, but after replaying all types of scenarios, conversation, and getting nowhere really fast, Tony concluded that this was going to be a 'wing-it' type deal, he could only hope that the two sides of his dilemma reached an agreement before he reached his destination.

Even with bustling city life and god-awful traffic, the people who had no appreciation for cross-walks, and some jerk in a shiny new black Corvette who that he was real hot stuff, it felt like no time at all before the Rampet Corporations building came into Tony's view.

Pulling into the nearest parking space, Tony stepped out and gave his reflection in his car's waxed surface a once-over. Once he was finished flattening hair that looked fine and straightening out a shirt that didn't have wrinkles, Tony gathered his courage and walked into the building that housed a man Tony couldn't be sure wouldn't just have him tossed out on principle.

A directory, assistant, and five floors up had Tony in front of Lawrence's personal secretary, the remaining obstacle between Tony and his target, and she was typing away furiously at her computer, not even realizing he was in the room with her.

"Ahem."

Startled, the secretary, Kelly the name plaque provided, looked up. Soft brown eyes bordered with delicate gold glasses frames, freckles dusting her nose, and wavy blonde hair had Tony muse that this was the kind of girl he imagined Bruce would go for. She had that not-quite-nerdy cute look and seemed nice enough.

"Oh! Umm, I'm terribly sorry, what can I do for you?"

Tony smiled; she'd gotten over her surprise quickly enough, but still had an air of nervousness. She was definitely a reserved, quite-type.

"Well, I'm Tony Stark, and I was hoping to see your boss, Mr. Rampet."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Tony wondered if he should have gone for a suit. It was more convincing to look like you should see someone without scheduling it earlier in a freshly pressed shirt, tie, and slacks instead of the navy-blue long sleeved polo and jeans he was wearing.

"No."

Kelly's eyes shifted, unsure. "Um, you see, Mr. Stark, Mr. Rampet isn't seeing anyone today without an appointment, so . . ."

Tony turned his charm up to eleven and gave a enamoring smile, resting lightly on her desk.

"I just need to go over some things with Mr. Rampet about our contract. I wouldn't be more than five minutes."

The girl still looked hesitant, eyebrows furrowed and chewing on her bottom lip, clearly trying to decide if Tony was important enough to be an exception to her boss' explicit instructions.

"Well . . ."

Tony made an x-shape on his chest and gave her an open look. "Cross my heart."

That seemed to break her wavering resolve. "Okay . . . I suppose, since you're an associate of Mr. Rampet, just, Mr. Stark . . .?"

Tony gave an understanding nod and a wink. "I slipped by you completely unnoticed, in fact, I think you were probably getting something to drink. You never saw me."

Kelly smiled shyly. "Thank you Mr. Stark."

Tony flashed her one last smile before mentally preparing himself and walking into Lawrence's office.

The interior of the office was nice, elegant in its style, not overly furnished or artsy, but that wasn't where Tony's attention lay.

"Ah, Kelly, I was hoping you cou-"

Lawrence gazed up from whatever he'd been writing down to see it wasn't his secretary who had walked in.

"Mr. Stark."

Lawrence's face was blank and his voice polite enough. Tony guessed that was a good sign, though the fact that the dark-haired man addressed him with his last name settled uneasily in Tony's gut.

Tony cleared his throat, cynically wondering where his confidence with Kelly scurried off too.

"Hey Lawrence, um, you have a minute?"

"I do." And a pale hand gestured to either chair positioned in front of his desk.

Tony took a seat and tried to pick a place to start, knowing that Lawrence hated small talk as much as he did, however, Tony decided to forgo beating around the bush and dive right in.

"Look, about last night-"

Lawrence cut him off. "It's fine, Mr. Stark, three bone-harrowing, sleep-depriving days had just ended; the atmosphere was unrestricted and jovial and everyone was permitted an enjoyable time, yourself included. With alcohol in the mix, I will not fault you for something as trivial as a kiss, no apologies are necessary."

And there it was, a way out, practically thrown at him on a silver platter. Tony could take this readily-handed excuse and they'd never have to bring up 'the kiss' again. Lawrence was willing to let Tony go with this one, there wouldn't have to be any discussions, any deeper meaning. All Tony would have to do was smile, agree, and wish Lawrence a pleasant day on his way out. It would be so simple. So easy.

But it wouldn't go back to the way it had been, Tony could see it now in the way Lawrence hadn't _quite_ looked him in the eye during this entire exchange. If Tony took the easy way out, then there would never be any more talks over Chinese takeout or shared laughs over tormenting a man by molesting fruit. It would all be business, because that awkwardness would never go away.

Lawrence would know that Tony kissed him, for whatever reason, and Tony would know he knew. They'd only talk on deals, stocks, and trade, wouldn't ever venture farther than 'how's the weather?'

And Tony didn't want that. He wanted to get to know the man who was such a private person, yet felt he could to open up to Tony about his troubled family past. Tony wanted to know the man with a delightfully wicked sense of humor hidden under that posh exterior. Tony wanted to know the man who spoke so eloquently in any conversation, who moved so gracefully with whatever he did, who could take Tony's gibes in not only in stride, but return them with equal precision.

Tony wanted to know Lawrence, and if he let this go, he never would.

Suddenly finding that confidence, Tony looked right at Lawrence, making sure those green eyes stayed on his brown. Tony didn't know where this was going to go, or how it was going to end, but he wasn't going to walk away. He was a mature adult after all, despite evidence to the contrary.

"I wasn't going to apologize for kissing you."

* * *

><p>Tony couldn't be serious, yet he was fixing Loki with such a stare, those eyes, so much more in them the mediocre person was blind too, that believing Tony to be otherwise seemed foolish. So he must have heard wrong.<p>

"Pardon?"

Tony appeared far less anxious then when he'd first come in and Loki was wary of what produced that change.

"I'm not sorry for kissing you.' Tony said, his second nature charisma seeping back into his words, 'I am sorry I didn't ask you beforehand."

It took all his restraint for Loki to keep the incredulousness from reaching the impassive wall he'd built around himself. Loki had taken much time to think the night before, and decided that in order to salvage what he could from their affiliation, there would have to be an opening for them both to re-establish a comfortable business partnership.

So Loki gave that to Tony, and once he'd accept it, as Loki already had, they could move on from the confounding chaos that was last night. It wasn't a seamless plan, but it was the most efficient.

However, Loki really should stop assuming with Tony Stark, the man never did what the trickster knew to be evident in an identical position. Here he was, confronting a problem that would be better left avoided.

Loki wondered if it was bravery or arrogance.

"I'm afraid I do not understand you, Mr. Stark. In lieu of sounding incompetent, please make yourself clear." Loki wasn't sure if he was intentionally being dense, or truly ignorant of what Tony was trying to say.

The man before him sighed, but didn't falter.

"I like you Lawrence. I've liked getting to know you, and I _certainly_ liked kissing you' -Loki did _not_ feel heat rising to his cheeks- 'to be honest, I'd like to see where this could go."

"We could be associates, friends, mortal enemies, frenemies,' Tony shrugged, 'maybe more. I just know that I don't want to give up without trying. So, who knows?"

Loki was now very aware of how hard his hands were griping each other atop his desk, and how his lungs weren't taking in sufficient air. He had to break away from those dark eyes.

What Tony was saying without saying, what he was inferring, was that he was interested in pursuing some kind of relationship. Loki wasn't sure how to process this information, he, an alien deity masquerading as human, involved in an impractical entanglement with media-teaser, CEO prodigy Tony Stark, it was borderline absurd.

Tony must have caught onto Loki's rational doubts, for his face morphed into something less overconfident and more hopeful.

"It doesn't have to be anything serious. We could go to dinner and find that we're better friends, or you could sock me for getting handsy and file a restraining order, but isn't that the fun of trying?"

Loki took brief reserve in the amusement of musing how bored Tony truly was if he considered a restraining order fun. The moment of reprieve was over much too soon and Loki had to address what Tony was asking for, and returned his green gaze to the man standing in his office.

It was ridiculous, really. If they were to become involved, their business arrangement had the possibility of suffering, a single misplaced word could lead to hurt feelings and generate irrational decisions, opinions would become biased; it is unwise to mix business with pleasure.

That was, of course, giving credence to the possibility that anything did form between himself and Tony. They'd known each other, maybe for a month, and of that time had resided in one another's presence for a few limited days. It was ludicrous thinking there was a satisfactory amount of interchange to base a working relationship on. Even entertaining the idea was idiotic and Loki would do well to put it from his mind.

'_But'_, a small part of him whispered, neither treacherous nor faithful, _'you can't ignore it, because you have enjoyed your time with this man as much as he says he's enjoyed his time with you.'_

There are those who say it takes a strong man to admit when he is wrong, Loki would be inclined to agree, but it also takes a strong man to admit the things he'd rather not. And liking the idea of pursuing a relationship with Tony Stark was one of those things Loki wished he could not admit.

Binding himself to Tony in any other way besides business necessity would leave him open for an attack, it was a weakness . . .

'Wait . . .' Loki's eyebrows furrowed as he re-examined his own thoughts.

What weaknesses would being in an intimate bond with Tony bring forth? True, aspects of such a relationship could be exploited by media and persons otherwise, but when did Loki care about the cutting tongues of others? Loki was no longer amongst the royalty he didn't trust, thus stayed himself from having a more meaningful connection with another being. Loki was on Earth, where the cut-throat, back-stabbing industry of business was inconsequential compared to his life on Asgard.

Asgard . . . Loki kept looking at this as though he was still part of the higher realm, always careful of Odin's judgment and constantly having his deeds bested by Thor.

Well, Odin did not rule over Midgard, and Thor was off playing superhero, utterly unaware of Loki's presence on the planet, if there was any reason to keep him from trying this 'thing' with Tony, then it should be Loki.

Loki was completely in control of the situation; he could say yes, he could say no, the only influence in his decision was his own.

Loki liked Tony, he honestly did. Two years of building up a life on Midgard had left little in the way of forging relationships; the God of Mischief was no stranger to loneliness.

Loki did not want to abandon a friendship with a man he found so entertainingly interesting over the awkwardness of impulsive physical affection, and yes, while if could be potentially disastrous for business if they were to have a falling out, Loki determined it was worth the fun of the venture he and Tony would take to see where they could end up. A catastrophic outcome was something Loki would have to chance.

He started this new life, and Loki was going to ensure he did not dictate it as his previous one.

The trickster let out a breath, a mixture of defeat and triumph, and his mouth split into a smile, something kind and sultry and aloof.

"Well,' Loki looked away from Tony, feigning interest in his fingernails, 'your offer is most tempting, did you have a place you wanted to start . . . Mr. Stark?"

Tony's features adapted something wolfish, and the brown-eyed man dealt a toothy smile.

"I did,' he said, Tony coming closer, leaning on the desk and leveling his face with Loki's, 'but for it to work, I need to ask you a very serious question."

There was a lengthy pause, Tony was clearly one for dramatics, and it nearly brought Loki to elated laughter.

"Do you like Italian?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Phew, long chapter is long. I'm sorry if things are getting a little wordy and boring. Thanks to all who have reviewd and such. Please continue to leave feedback, it really helps.**

"How do I look?"

Tony gave a short spin within the free space of the floor that wasn't layered with discarded clothes. Stopping to once again face Pepper, Tony spread his arms and gave her a look that dared Pepper to do her worst.

After an hour of trying on different outfits Pepper learned that no amount of "this isn't what you hired me for"s and "I don't get paid enough"s she uttered, her "beloved" boss would interpret it as an aversion to what he was wearing and go to put on something else.

Normally, Pepper would have teased Tony relentlessly about his obvious nervous behavior. After all, how many people had Tony charmed into his bed? How many extravagant flings? Enough for Pepper to develop a routine for dealing with them the morning after, around the same time she decided not to dwell on how becoming a greeter to Tony's sexcipades had integrated itself into her job duties.

So, Pepper found it funny that Tony was so worked up over a date, one she still couldn't believe he'd gotten, yet two nights ago, the same day he'd gone to ask forgiveness of Mr. Lawrence Rampet, did Tony walk into his home with smug practically plastered to his forehead.

_Two Nights Earlier . . ._

_Pepper was in the middle of shuffling paper work on the Stark Industries Stock when the CEO himself swaggered into the spacious living room, a grin on his face so self-satisfied that Pepper was almost afraid to ask._

_"So,' started Pepper, eyeing Tony warily as he plopped onto the leather couch next to her, putting his hands behind his head and resting his feet on the table, his smile remaining, 'did Rampet let you off with a warning?"_

_"Mmmmm,' Tony said indiscernibly, starting off into space._

_It was a bewildering silence, Tony sitting there without a care in the world and Pepper now growing worried over his mental state._

_'I have a date."_

_Pepper rolled her eyes, the irrational panic vanishing to let exasperation take its place when Tony broke the stillness with his -dare she say dreamy?- announcement._

_'Of course.' sarcasm laced Pepper's thoughts, 'Why am I not surprised?'_

_"What'd you do? Romance his secretary when he wasn't looking?"_

_Tony broke from his wistful mellowness and looked over at her with something devious in his eyes. "Nope."_

_Had Pepper not known Tony for years and be far more than accustomed to his behaviors, if may have taken her longer to read into what his look and non-descriptive answer meant, and although that wasn't the case, her blue-grey eyes widened and tone took a note of disbelief nevertheless._

_"No."_

_The smile Tony had donned the second he walked into his house stretched even farther, if that was possible, and it was all the affirmation Pepper needed._

_" . . . No, no way. You, he . . . No."_

_Present . . ._

Although Pepper was still foggy on the how; whatever it was that possessed Mr. Rampet to agree to go out with Tony, she finally accepted that there was no outside influence and Tony had simply managed to get out of serious trouble and walk away scheduling diner reservations . . . again.

It was far too frequent to be luck by this point.

However, the situation quickly set into annoyance as Tony asked Pepper's opinion on what he should wear, which lead to forty-five minutes, twenty different articles of clothing, and Pepper reminding Tony that she had better things to do than watch him model.

'Should have known it wouldn't be simple.'

But Tony would counter with "just one more Pepper, please?" and Pepper would feel her determination dissolve, knowing that while Tony was her conceited, cocky, narcissistic boss, he was also her friend, and it felt good to see him genuinely happy.

"You look good." And Pepper was really being honest, not just desperate to get him to stick to an outfit.

Tony wore a white button-up, casual when without the tie and jacket, and dark slacks. It didn't scream business, but it was nice enough for an evening out. His hair was its regular styled self and his facial hair perfectly trimmed as always.

"I don't know . . ." said Tony doubtfully, checking himself out.

Pepper was flipping through her mental list of appropriate threats, friend or not, her patience did have its limits, but held back. Really, her tolerance when it came to Tony should be nationally recognized.

"Tony, you look fine. If you don't hurry up, you're going to be late, and you're supposed to pick up Lawrence."

Pepper had to keep from breathing a sigh of relief when Tony checked his watch and agreed. Tony looked into his mirror once more, Pepper strongly resisting the urge to smack him, then grabbed his keys and wallet, walking out of his room and to the front door, Pepper right behind him.

A sudden halt and Tony spun around, nearly causing the red-head to crash into him.

"Are you sure I look alright? Because all I have for fashion advisers are the 'super friends' and I wouldn't trust those guys to pick me out a suit for my funeral."

Pepper had to stop herself from smiling. Taking Tony by the shoulders Pepper looked him in the eye, keeping her voice calm and resolute.

"Tony, if you try on anymore clothes, you'll be the next face in line for a mass produced Ken doll. I want you to go have Italian with your date, and leave me to my rapidly diminishing social life."

Tony smiled, looking grateful and a bit guilty, and gave Pepper a quick hug, her slender arms squeezing back, returning the sentiment. Pepper wished the brunette man a good night as he finally made his way out the door.

Hearing one of Tony's many cars roar to life, Pepper sighed, debating if she should spend the rest of her night raiding the freezer for ice-cream and watching some well-deserved television or picking up the clutter and driving back to her apartment. A peek into the department store mess that was now Tony's room decided for her. Double-fudge rocky road and HBO is was.

* * *

><p>Tony drove along the darkened road, headlights glittering amongst all the other cars that were driving the same streets. The digital numbers of his console clock assured Tony that he'd have enough time to arrive at Lawrence's and get to the restaurant by eight like they agreed on.<p>

Thankfully, the man wasn't too far a distance from where Tony's home was, a half-hour tops, and with driving at night occupying Tony's attention, he was saved from the maniacal thoughts of doubt.

His car slowed to a stop as Tony pulled up to Lawrence's flat. Double-checking his directions to be correct, Tony opened the door and walked up to the house, shoes taping against the cemented pathway, the sound unusually loud, almost drowning out the noise of city night-life.

Shaking off any anxiousness, the off-duty superhero momentarily hesitated before ringing the doorbell, its unassuming ding-dong echoed through the calm Tony was trying to maintain.

The seconds dragged on and Tony started to berate himself for being so nervous.

'Geez, what am I? Back in high school asking out the future prom queen? I'm Tony Stark. I'm a genius, a billionaire, and CEO of my own company. I ooze charisma and confidence, not to mention I'm drop-dead sexy. I-'

One could hear Tony's thoughts hitting the breaks when Lawrence stepped outside to greet him.

"My apologies for making you wait. There was a cancelation and Kelly had called to clear it up."

Lawrence certainly knew how to dress to his advantages, even if it was simple. The man before him was sporting a black turtleneck, not clinging to him, but revealing his lean build, and the black of the fabric once again showed off the soft paleness of Lawrence's marble skin. Dark blue jeans added for a more contemporary look to his attire and Tony was defiantly enjoying Lawrence out of a suit.

Learning long ago that bodily harm could come to those that stared too long Tony's eyes made their way back to Lawrence's, their emerald-green color luminous in the dark by whatever faint light brightened the surrounding area.

Tony gave an easy smile. "No problem. I may not be a patient man, but even I can endure less than a minute of waiting."

Lawrence returned the smile with a small one of his own and followed Tony to his car.

Once inside and heading toward the restaurant, a not-quite uncomfortable silence enveloped the interior of the vehicle. It was an awkward tension, the kind where you're not sure what to say and both of them were aware of it. Tony's eyes kept drifting to Lawrence who was staring straight ahead, the lights of other cars and streetlamps dragging across his silhouette.

Luckily, Tony picked an Italian place near-by, because the silence was killing him.

"Am I going to have to make an ironic statement about taking a picture and how it will last longer? Eyes on the road Tony, I'd rather not have this date end by crashing head-first into another automobile."

The accented words and teasing nature help to alleviate some of the tension and Tony relaxed a bit, making sure to be stealthier with his glances.

The restaurant was a nice Italian place, small, professional, but not overly grandiose. It was a safe place, a place someone could take anyone to. Inside it was pleasant; warmly lit and not over-crowed. The hostess greeted them and they were shown to their table, a waiter coming by almost immediately to offer breadsticks and drinks.

Tony looked over the menu, buying time by reading the orders in both their English and Italian translations. Spying over the laminated edge, Tony could see that Lawrence apparently knew what he wanted and folded his hands over his menu, looking at their surroundings.

Accepting he couldn't hide in the pasta dishes forever, Tony put down his menu and faced Lawrence. Their eyes would meet briefly, the other looking as though they were going to start up some conversation, but chickened out and looked away. Great, the awkwardness was back.

"So, um . . ." Tony began, but realized he hadn't thought this out as his words trailed off. He hadn't been on a real date in a while, what was he supposed to say?

Lawrence regarded him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for Tony to finish, but thank whatever higher being may exist, because their waiter swooped down to unknowingly save the day from a very possible case of foot-in-mouth as he asked if Tony and Lawrence had decided what they would like for the evening.

"Signore, have you made a decision?"

Tony did a quick scan through the menu again. "Linguini with clam sauce please."

The waiter turned to Lawrence as he scribbled down Tony's order. "And you, signore?"

"Vorrei che la zucca Tortellini alla favore."

The waiter flashed a smile. "Si signori, subito. Your meals will be ready soon."

Their server walked away and Tony's interest was piqued.

"You speak Italian?"

Lawrence nodded and took a drink from his glass. "Yes. There was a time in my life I felt I knew most of what there was about culture and wanted to immerse myself in the languages. It suits me well to practice should the opportunity arise."

Tony leaned forward, feeling a lot less stiff, and placed his elbows on the table, letting his chin rest on his gripped hands. "Well I don't know much about the Italian language, but it sounds like you've got it down. Rolls right off your tongue."

The green-eyed man smirked into his glass. "Flattery will get you nothing Tony."

"Awww, not even a gold star?"

A short laugh. "We shall see."

As their dinner progressed Tony found that after the initial difficulty of starting, talking with Lawrence came as easily as someone he might have known for years. Lawrence liked art and history; the evolution of society fascinated him, politics bored him to tears, he preferred a good book to dumbed-down television, and had a secret affinity for sweets.

Tony in turn shared his love of cars; fixing up old clunkers, taking apart the latest models so he could put them back together, mentioned Rhodey and how fun is was to pester his up-tight military comrade though stated that he was one of his most loyal and oldest friends, and made a strong argument that the Whooper was one of the greatest things ever to be created to eat. Ever.

Personal life was reserved a bit more, Tony spent most of his down time with his fellow Avengers, thus only made vague references when telling Lawrence a story involving his team, and Lawrence claimed he didn't have much as relocating his company to the states was priority.

The topic of family was still a no-no with Lawrence, but he did divulge some of his childhood relating to his mother, giving Tony the impression Lawrence still cared for her, despite the falling out.

They continued long after they'd finished their meals, talking about whatever the conversation lead to. They would debate, joke, flirt, the warm glow of the restaurant casted everything in a softer light, and if their eyes held between the bouts of talking or if their hands would occasionally brush across the table, neither made any move to mention.

* * *

><p>"I don't think Arch-Energy is the direction the world should go in for its consumption needs."<p>

The ride back to Lawrence's flat was far more animated this time around, somewhere along paying for their meals, Lawrence not guaranteeing that Tony would pull back his hand if he went for the check, so splitting the cost was agreed upon, and walking back to the car had brought up the current energy crisis.

So, Tony was for the most powerful and continuous source of energy currently found on the planet, that which was residing in his chest, keeping his heart beating. However, Lawrence disagreed.

"And why not?' asked Tony, 'it's a clean energy, all it needs to be is adapted to different mediums."

Though Tony couldn't tell, Lawrence's strict 'eyes in front' policy kept the Iron Man from looking at his companion, he was pretty sure Lawrence was giving him a 'you're less than intelligent, aren't you?' face

"You're joking, truly you must be. The materials for the reactor would have to be gathered, some not exactly the most abundant, then there would be the regulation of energy, the 'adaption' you say as though it is no problem, would take years of trials and proto-types before _ever_ rising to the point that it _may _be susceptible for mass production and distribution. This is also in the context of a best case scenario; for the risks and hazards involved are incomprehensible at the level science is at today for such an enormous undertaking."

"I dunno,' said Tony, managing a side-long glance, 'I managed to put together one from missile parts, worked just fine."

Lawrence scoffed. "What you managed, while brilliant, was done in trepidation. You hardly conceived the Arch reactor in a scenario where extensive research could be done and your results replicated efficiently. Luck cannot be defaulted on when creating scientific leaps."

There was a second of silence where Lawrence's eyes widened and his hand twitched, almost as to cover his mouth in a delayed reaction to keep his words from being spoken.

"It seems I've done it now, haven't I? Tony I am sorry. It was not my intention to cheapen what you went through during your capture in Afghanistan. Had any other been in your place, that person wouldn't have been expected to do a fraction as well as you did; you survived, manufactured a working Arch reactor in impossible conditions, and then you escaped. Any one of those feats is remarkable on its own."

Lawrence stopped speaking and turned to look out his window, uncomfortable by the thoughtlessness of his earlier words.

"Nah, it's okay,' said Tony, pulling into Lawrence's driveway, 'I know you weren't questioning my awesomeness." Tony gave Lawrence a reassuring smile, one Lawrence couldn't find in himself to honestly return.

Both men stepped out of the car and walked toward Lawrence's front door, until Tony spoke again, halting their progress, the rhythms of shoes on concrete dissipated into the tranquil night.

"To be honest . . . I can't say I wouldn't go through it again, given another chance."

"Why, why would you not prevent one of the worst moments of your life? Why keep such pain?" Lawrence's voice was quiet, scarcely above a whisper.

"Well,' shrugged the darker man, 'as terrible as it was, it did open my eyes."

"Before, Tony Stark was a man who manufactured the most elite in weapons technology and assumed everyone would place nice. He was a man who took the profits of selling the bigger stick, but not the responsibility."

Brown eyes casted their gaze upward, tracing over the stars. "But then he got a wake-up call, learned that in the game of warfare, innocent people get hurt." A dying man, riddled with bullets and past the point of pain, smiling as he spoke about being reunited with his family flashed before Tony's mind. "Now, I know that people don't play by some fair, established set of rules. That when a situation doesn't suit, the most powerful player doesn't have a problem manipulating a whole new game." Obadiah Stane, a man Tony never thought twice about trusting. "Now, now I know that there are consequences for my actions, no matter how indirect, and ignorance is _never_ an excuse. I refuse to be that naïve again."

Tony looked back at Lawrence, those beautiful green eyes watching him, burrowing into his own, refusing to break away.

"So, if I wasn't taken hostage, I'd still probably be on my high horse. It's painful, some days it kills, and others it's a dull twinge_, just_ reminding me it's there, but I wouldn't get rid of it . . . I can't."

"It is difficult,' said Lawrence, voice cutting through the heavy solemn air, 'when you believe yourself to be more, only to find that your worth can be measured as a pawn in another's plan, to be sacrificed when seen fit."

Lawrence looked elsewhere and Tony inhaled, denying that the night end on such a depressing note. Giving a smile came with ease as Tony moved close to Lawrence, nudging his friend to continue walking.

"Okay, this is starting to bring me down, let's talk about something else . . . like, how sexy you look in that turtleneck."

A smile pulled at reluctant lips as Lawrence gave into Tony's contagious charisma. "Do I now? With the way you've been staring at me all evening, I'd never have guessed."

"Yeah, I'm real subtle like that."

Lawrence smirked and shook his head, stopping at his door to get his keys. "Oh yes, I'm sure if 'subtle' was looked up in a dictionary your name would be listed?"

The Iron Avenger didn't respond, noticing that this was the end of the date, and wondering if Lawrence would be too apprehensive of a good-night kiss.

'I guess, well, 'sppose I could just ask . . .'

"Tony."

Oh, Lawrence had that mischievous look in his eye, and Tony wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing, but had a feeling he'd enjoy it regardless.

"You can kiss me, you know. I promise not to abruptly leave again, though your hands had better keep to themselves."

Tony huffed, "Pffft, well, you're no fu-," but was quickly silenced by a soft mouth over his.

Tony's eyes slid shut as he leaned into the kiss. It was gentle, the slightest of pressure being applied, yet unleashed a feeling so warm and welcoming, even innocent in nature, that Tony had to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around Lawrence to indulge the pleasurable sensation.

But, as it were, lungs needed air and the two broke away; Tony with a smile so bright it could been seen through the surrounding darkness, and Lawrence with pink dashing his pale cheeks, biting down a ridiculous smile of his own.

"Ah, well, good night, Tony."

"Good night, Lawrence." Replied Tony as the other man slipped behind the door.

* * *

><p>Loki closed the door behind him, leaning against it and slowly falling to the floor, sitting with his back to its hard wooden surface, hands covering his face in a futile attempt to fight off the blush.<p>

Why was he acting like some teenager discovering desire of another; easily self-conscious and light-headed, his thoughts disorderly and words threatening to ramble? Even when he was young enough to be considered an adolescent, he never behaved like this . . . so, so, _enamored_. It was almost pathetic, how easily Tony Stark reduced him to such incoherent feelings. It was shameful, how this man captivated him so . . .

Yet, no matter how greatly Loki mentally admonished his actions, no matter how appalling his lack of control _should_ be, the fallen-god couldn't help the smile from finally breaking free, with it a blossoming of warmth spreading throughout his chest, awakening things he long since believed dead.

* * *

><p>Tony, however, had no qualms with wearing his goofy smile all the way back home, proudly displaying it as a result of a perfect night.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: This chapter is a little late, apologies as I've been busy. Thank you all who've commented and alerted. Please continue to leave reviews, I really do like to know how I'm doing.**

If there was one thing Tony Stark had been worried about, it was that juggling business, superhero-ing, and Lawrence, would end up in disaster. That balancing three separate points in his life would have resulted in one falling to the ground, and as he couldn't stop being Iron Man, nor neglect Stark Industries, it was Tony's slight fear that his relationship with Lawrence would be the thing to suffer.

But, Lawrence being a business man himself, with a company that took up more than its fair share of his time, he was actually one ahead of Tony on the 'I'm sorry I can't make it because of insert-business-problem-here'.

Despite it all, Tony and Lawrence had been able to get together, be it lunch or late diners, and the past few weeks had gone well.

Really well.

So well that Tony's natural superhero paranoia was starting to kick in.

Nevertheless, Tony took his string of good fortune and ran with it. A carefree attitude is hard to maintain when you're waiting for something awful to happen. That lead to stress, and Tony didn't want to be stressed, stress was _just_ better than boredom.

Speaking of boredom . . .

The Iron Avenger was currently making his way to Lawrence's office to free him of his oppressive working environment and drag him around town for some well-deserved fun. The consequences of saying no would result in a bored Tony, and a bored Tony was a dangerous thing indeed.

"Hey Kelly." The glasses-wearing blonde secretary was currently on the phone, but smiled and waved him in. They'd developed a routine since Tony came by so often, and a decent acquaintanceship. Tony would pop in, most of the time unannounced, give a quick greeting to Kelly, Kelly would return said greeting and tell Tony if Lawrence was in a meeting or in the middle of something equally important

The young girl pointed to Lawrence's door and gave an O.K. signal. Tony walked around her desk and mouthed a 'Thank you' before stepping inside the office.

Lawrence was talking on the phone too, though not as nice and polite as Kelly was.

"No Mr. Gillen, as I have stated before, your order is non-refundable. You bought two tons of steel at a discounted price, and before your purchase, signed a contract stating that if you were dissatisfied, or for any reason wanted to return the steel, aside from the metal being damaged or defective in any way, that you could not return your order."

Lawrence paused, waiting for this 'Gillen' to finished speaking. Tony could tell that the longer the man on the other end of the line spoke, the less patience Lawrence had, which was an incredible feat, because if there was one thing the green-eyed business man possessed, it was patience.

"Mr. Gillen, I personally negotiated with you over your order and you walked away with at a price that should be considered robbery, because the purchaser prior to yourself halted his order half way through its manufacture. You signed a legally binding contract, you had the superior deal, so unless there is something faulty with the steel you have procured, you, for all other tenses and purposes, are stuck with it."

Tony could almost hear Gillen through the telephone. Lawrence had his free hand on his forehead, messaging his temples. Dark brows were furrowed, emerald eyes narrowed, and his mouth was in a thin line, Tony wasn't sure if he should be amused or somewhat cautious.

Lawrence's postured went ridged and sat up straighter, his voice took a distinctly chilly tone as he responded to Gillen.

"If it is your desire to take this to a court Mr. Gillen, then I shall be more than happy to oblige, though I do warn you to deliberate over your decision, for if this petty matter is presented to a justice of the legal system, do not be so naïve as to think that I will not retaliate for the irritation it will surely cause me. Good day, Mr. Gillen."

And with that, Lawrence put the phone down on its receiver, perhaps a little harder than necessary.

"Tough day?"

Lawrence scowled and ran a hand through his hair. "That's a pleasant way of putting it."

"I know how to make your day better,' Tony moved forward, 'going out with me for the rest of the afternoon."

Lawrence sighed. "Not today Tony, I have a lot to do and Mr. Gillen there,' he glared at the phone, 'has just added to it."

"Come on,' Tony walked in front of the desk and knelt down, clasping his hands in a pleading manner, 'please?"

Lawrence's earlier frustration still hadn't worn off and re-directed toward the beseeching man. "No."

Not easily deterred, Tony stood up and moved behind Lawrence, hugging him around the shoulders. "Pretty please?"

"Last time I checked, you are Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. If you could, go run your company instead of interfering with the running of mine."

"You can leave your company to let your employees handle their jobs. It's one of the perks of being a boss."

"Tony, if you have so much free time, surely you can use it to do something productive and beneficial to mankind, instead of disturbing me."

Tony sniffed at the voiced glare and rolled his eyes. 'Time to bring out the big guns.'

"I didn't want to have to do this Lawrence, but you've forced my hand." Tony released his hold on the pale man and rested his weight on the desk next to him, picking imaginary food out of his teeth.

"Have I now?"

"Yup,' Tony confirmed, 'Lawrence, if you don't drop everything you're working on to enjoy yourself by walking around the city with me, then I'm going to give you a pet name."

" . . . You wouldn't _dare_."

Tony smirked. "Don't be so sure of that, _pookie_."

Lawrence blanched for a moment then quickly gathered himself to send Tony a white-hot glower.

"Tony, I'm warning you . . ."

"Warning me about what, sugar-bear?" Tony really hoped he was seeing Lawrence struggling with being amused under his ire, because the inventor wasn't so positive that Lawrence wouldn't toss him out the window for the ridiculous terms of endearment.

"Tony . . ."

"Yes my English-muffin?"

Lawrence let out a noise somewhere between a growl and exasperated sigh before throwing his hands in the air and Tony knew he'd won.

"Fine. I'll leave my very important work to satisfy your immature whims. Are you pleased?"

Tony grinned and hooked an arm around one of Lawrence's and virtually dragged him out of his office.

"Very."

* * *

><p>"I refuse to believe that this qualifies as food."<p>

Lawrence was presently staring down at a half-eaten bacon-cheese burger, courtesy of Burger King.

Tony laughed, inhaling the last of his fries. "You weren't complaining earlier."

"Oh, I was. You were just too busy stuffing your face with whatever fast food is to have noticed."

Tony gave a blameless shrug as Lawrence finished the rest of his burger. "I've probably consumed more fat in one burger than I ever had given an entire day,' he shook his head in disbelief, 'you say you eat this often?"

"What can I say? It's food. It's fast. It's the King."

The two men continued their walk through the mostly vacant park, the sun disappearing an hour ago, street lights and stars offering the only visibility. Shadows stretched along the ground and small animals were frightened into hiding by the motors of cars that broke through the otherwise calm night.

It was as peaceful as the glittering, lively city was going to offer and Tony stopped for a moment to take it all in. There were no dastardly villains to apprehend, no meteors hurdling towards Earth, there was just a tranquility Tony hadn't the chance to feel lately, and it was nice.

A rather strong burst of frigid wind cut through him however, and broke the calm into exaggerated shivers. Tony was regretting that he hadn't thought to wear something warmer as he rubbed his arms to take the edge of the unforgiving gust off.

Lawrence took notice of Tony's discomfort for a moment then smirked. "Haven't the foresight to bring a coat against the frosty air of a winter night Tony?"

Tony kept from sticking his tongue out at Lawrence's smug expression. "A good boyfriend would offer his jacket, not stand there and be tickled at my suspense."

"Ah, but see, then I too would be cold, and we wouldn't get anywhere, would we, _cupcake_?" And Lawrence very purposefully straightened his black suit jacket.

Tony huffed and moved closer to Lawrence, wrapping his arms around his waist and let his head rest on Lawrence's shoulder. The ivory-skinned man stiffened, still somewhat reserved with public displays of affection, but did not back away.

"Tony, what are you doing?"

"Holding onto the warmest thing around. Don't want to get a cold."

"Hmm, and why should I share my precious body heat with you?"

Tony lifted his head and looked into Lawrence's eyes, trying to keep from getting lost in their secretive depths. "I think you're still a bit spiteful over the pet-names."

"Oh?" His arms draped loosely around Tony's neck, bring the two closer.

"Yup. And I can safely say I've learned my lesson, so no reason to let me freeze to death." Tony drew closer still.

"You're being over-dramatic. It's barely cold enough for you to become ill, let alone die."

Tony distantly wondered when their voices became whispers. "Maybe, but I better not risk it." And the CEO of Stark Industries crossed the remaining space separating them, bringing his lips to Lawrence's in a gratifying kiss.

It did not stay a simple and tentative kiss for long. Mouths were pressed together, hard and bruising, until Tony ran his tongue along Lawrence's bottom lip, prompting him to part his lips and allow Tony's curious tongue inside.

It was long and languid, yet heated as Tony explored Lawrence's mouth, Lawrence's own tongue prodding back as they danced around each other. Tony was gripping the paler man tighter, crushing their bodies together and Lawrence had his fingers threaded in Tony's brown hair.

The night seemed so much quieter and the frigid bite of the wind was a distant blip in the way back of Tony's mind. He was warmer now, much warmer. It was just Lawrence and him, in their own passionate world, where the only thing Tony could smell was whatever Lawrence used to smell so good, the only thing he could taste was the remnants of that damn burger, yet also something minty, the only thing he could feel was Lawrence's lean body against his own, and the only thing he could hear were the muffled moans he eagerly swallowed.

And the Avenger would have liked it to have stayed that way, but air was a cruel mistress, and the two regretfully pulled apart.

Waiting for his greedy lungs to get their fill, Tony looked over Lawrence, their faces still very close. Emerald eyes were slightly glazed over, though regarded Tony with their usual precision, and his light complexion showed off a deep blush, which Tony would have no problem further exploiting.

Both men, still lightly panting, breaths intermingling, prepared to return to their amorous activities . . . when Tony's phone started ringing.

The Iron Man groaned, wanting so very much to chuck his phone in some random direction where it would disappear into the dead of night and wouldn't interrupt. And if it had been anyone else calling, he would have. However, Tony knew that ring tone, inconspicuous to others, but a warning to him.

Taking a step back, Tony went through the motions of checking his phone, clinging onto the slim sliver of hope that it wasn't who he thought it was and he could ignore it. The number flashing on the screen told him what he already knew. Great.

"Someone important?"

Lawrence's voice brought Tony out of his irritation, now looking like they _hadn't_ just made-out. Damn that man and his ability to compose himself so quickly. Tony made a mental note to take that as a challenge in the future.

"Yeah, it's . . . worked related." It wasn't a lie, necessarily.

Lawrence gasped and put a hand to his mouth in mock shock. "You mean the great Tony Stark actually has to . . . work? To do something that requires . . . responsibility?"

"Unfortunately.' Tony sighed, wanting to pull Lawrence back again, but resisting, 'And as much I would prefer to kiss you senseless, I have to go take care of this, less I face the consequences. Let's get a cab."

Lawrence chuckled and placed a last chaste kiss to Tony's lips before grabbing his hand and entwining their fingers. "Well then, let's go."

Hailing a cab, the two men rode back to Lawrence's company building. It wasn't too late into the evening and Lawrence wished Tony a good night before going back inside, probably to make a dent in whatever Tony had kept him from.

Tony briskly made his way to where he parked his car and set off to the Avengers mansion, thinking up any type of scenario that would cause Nick Fury to give him a courtesy call.


	10. Chapter 10

**Authors Note: I'm very sorry for the long wait, life decided to give me a good kick in the shins. I don't suppose the length of this chapter could make up for some of it? Regardless, thank you all for your comments and please continue to leave them, they motivate and help to improve.**

The debriefing room in the Avengers mansion was large and brightly lit, with a long, clear glass table acting as the center. Color was devoid of this room, glass planes and shiny metal surfaces only to reflect life; mirroring the colors and motions of those inside. Aside from the occasional whirring of a machine, cleverly designed to correspond with the bleakness of its surroundings, the debriefing room was a bland, sterile place, where ones attention would not waver and whatever task at hand would be dealt with without distraction.

It was a serious place, and when Tony entered, only silence and blank faces greeted him. Warm eyes trailed over each member of his team. All were gathered, each such contrasts against the white of the room. He could see in their expressions that any sarcasm or play he might have brought was better left outside; a juvenile attitude was not welcome here, not now.

The atmosphere was thick with foreboding and Tony's footfalls were hollow against the floor, mocking the lack of sound as he took a seat next to Bruce, turning to face Nick Fury at the head of the assembled superheroes. No one commented on his being the last one to arrive or asked where he'd been, all focus was on Fury, and even breathing seemed suspended in case it drew attention away from the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Nick looked haggard and weary; the lines of his face more pronounced. His solitary eye met every one of theirs, never lingering. The somber look left a dreading hole in the stomachs of the group, mental preparations being made, because whatever had happened or was going to happen wasn't good, and every single one of them knew it.

Without words, the dark man made his way around the table, dropping a folder in front of each Avenger until he was back to his original spot. Fury motioned for them to open the file, taking a moment to bring himself to full height and expression blank; every ounce of steady leader he was supposed to be.

Tony tried not to think about what would have Nick Fury needing a second to collect himself and stared at the contents of the folder, a familiar metal masked figure cloaked in green littered the page.

"Victor Von Doom alias: Doctor Doom,' Fury's voice loud and clear, enveloping any empty space in the debriefing room, leaving no possibility for misunderstandings, 'As you all know, last month Doom hit a nuclear power plant. Twenty-two of his henchmen were apprehended, but Doom escaped with a power cell."

The next page held the official report of that incident. Tony remembered, though he hadn't been there. It was the very same incident that had been reported on the news during the business convention's "thanks for making it this far without having a mental breakdown" party, when he learned a little bit more about Lawrence and his . . . unique opinion on superheroes.

Tony would have smiled fondly at the memory of the conversation prior to Tony laying one on Lawrence, if it hadn't been brought up by a very serious situation. Tony knew Nick was still getting to his point.

"Well, it seems that whatever Doom needed the first time, he didn't get, because he attacked another facility last night."

Steve's voice spoke up. "Why are we only hearing about this now?"

If Tony hadn't been the one to see it, he wouldn't have believed it. Nick Fury winced. It was small, would have been lost on the untrained eye, but a wince it was. Nick lowered his head, furrowed eyebrows and gritted teeth revealed the anger under the collected surface while clenched leather-clad fists showed the restraint it took not to let it out.

"Because,' started the man, voice never wavering, 'the entirety of the staff working at that nuclear plant had been killed." None spoke as the weight of Doom's deed sunk in. "It wasn't until another worker arrived for his shift was S.H.I. E.L.D notified. We spent the majority of the day trying to find out what happened and cleaning up."

Papers could be heard shuffling and crinkling as the Avengers tore through their files, as Tony himself was doing. Skimming over the words with the consistency only years of going over contracts could provide, Tony's eyes stopped dead when the word 'casualties' appeared in the midst of black and white.

_Cayman's North Nuclear Facility; Casualties: 381. Wounded: 0. Survivors: 0._

Doom had killed every single person working in that plant. No survivors, none injured. Just . . . dead. Doctor Doom was a bad guy for a reason, Tony knew that. Underneath the cliché name and the lengthy monologues and all the camp, was a man who didn't care about consequences less such consequences affected his end goal. Doom was a man who would always want something, be it money, information, or attention, and had no problem working outside ethics and morals to obtain it.

Really, Tony shouldn't be so surprised that a man who would set fire to an entire city and laugh as the flames swallowed the screams of its population could kill every man and woman working in a nuclear plant regardless if they'd been in his way or not.

Yet, this . . . this, it was still hard to know, still difficult to swallow. Though the fact that it still bothered Tony was something of a comfort that he hadn't gone numb to senseless murder.

The Iron Avenger drew his eyes from the page and glanced at Fury, the man with just as much responsibility as the rest of them weighing him down, perhaps even more. Yes, Tony decided he didn't envy Nick Fury. While the CEO was out in the field with the rest of his team, defending Earth, taking blows to the head and laser blasts to the body, desperately trying not to cause a greater level of damage to the surrounding area turned war zone that the villain they faced would be proud of, it was Nick Fury who was there for the aftermath.

Nick Fury and whatever S.H.I.E.L.D agents he had on hand were the ones that stayed behind and surveyed the loss. They were the ones who took note of the fallen buildings and the crushed cars, the ones who dealt with the loitering civilians, and they were the ones who dug the bodies out of the ruble, placing names to lifeless faces.

It was Fury and his band of men and women who stayed behind to clean up the city after a face-off between the superheroes and villains, covering as the Avengers changed out of their costumes, shedding their alter-egos and returning to their lives.

No, Tony wasn't envious of Nick Fury and the different kind of responsibility that befell him. While Tony knew that those numbers in black that so deeply contrasted the white they were printed on were people, people that wouldn't be returning home to greet family, would no longer hang out with friends, would never again fall asleep next to a lover, Nick was the one who knew the names and faces of the families of the deceased, the people who had to be told that their friend wasn't going to be there for the weekly get together at a local bar, the person that had to be sat down and told why their significant other hadn't come home the previous night. Nick Fury knew all those haunting details and Tony couldn't imagine being in his place.

"As you can gather,' rang Fury's voice, slicing through the silence that had accumulated as the Avengers took in the maliciousness of Doom's latest crime, 'Victor Von Doom is covering his tracks. He's making absolutely sure that _no one_ lets slip whatever it is he's planning."

Nick paused and even gravity seemed affected by his words, as Tony could feel them settling heavily on his chest. "This new plan of Doom's, it's big . . . and he doesn't want it to fail. That means he's willing to kill anyone he thinks might hinder his plot, but going to such extremes suggests Doom's desperate, and desperation can lead to getting sloppy."

"So, I want every one of you,' and Fury looked pointedly to them all, 'to keep ears open at all times. If someone so much whispers Doom, I want you on them. Any criminal you catch, I want to be informed if they know _anything_ about Doom, we will be the judge of its relevance. I know I don't need to tell you all how important it is to capture Doctor Doom before he finishes his newest scheme, so as of now, Victor Von Doom is the top priority. Dismissed."

And Nick Fury exited the room in a sweep of black trench coat and heavy boots, two S.H.I.E.L.D agents flanking him the second he turned down the hall.

Rough fingertips met the smooth face of the manila folder containing the rest of the report, merely more quasi-informational paragraphs detailing what Doom did to the nuclear facility and how little they really had on what he may be planning, as Tony closed the file. The inventor had read all he needed too.

Tony looked up and over at his teammates, all in a similar state of choking down this little nugget of reality, each showing it in his or her own way. Clint had a face of complete indifference, but Tony could see his right knee bobbing, the telltale sign of the impatient need to _move_. Natalie sported her best poker face as she absorbed every facet of the report, already in full-solider mode. Steve's posture and attitude were similar to Natalie's, while Thor's thoughts were readily on his face. Always did Thor's emotions display themselves, and now, anger was forefront.

Bruce's soft voice spoke up and Tony listened to it, though his eyes returned to the closed file under his hands. "You know, we fight all kinds of people, villains who are against humanity in one form or another. And when people die, there's normally a reason, some sort of emotional motivation. Are they looking for revenge? Do they just hate a certain group, a single person? Nevertheless, those lives mean _something_ to the villain, and you'd figure the violence would eventually stop, their purpose would finally be fulfilled."

"But what happens when we're face-to-face with someone who doesn't care about life. That this person kills, not because he is looking to avenge, not because the victim had something they wanted, but just because they could. Not in a show of godliness, no, but this person can kill another, someone who had very little, if anything to do with him or her, and never bat an eyelash, never feel any sort of success."

Bruce's emotions flowed through his words and gripped Tony, forcing him to face a harsh truth. "What do we do when we're trying to defeat someone who just doesn't care?"

Tony held back a humorless snort. That wasn't entirely true, Doom cared about himself. But he knew what Bruce was getting at, that Doom was at the point where people meant nothing. And how, as the defenders of Earth, a group of super powered beings who stood directly in harm's way _because_ they cared about people so much, could they possibly reason with that?

* * *

><p>Nearly a month later and Doom was still very much hidden away in whatever crevice he had managed to find. Not a swish of a green hooded cape or a metal shaving off his body armor had been spotted. They'd gone through petty purse snatchers to The Circus of Crime, demanding to know anything about Doom. But the criminals would just shrugged their shoulders, swearing ignorance as they were man-handled into the back of police cruisers for whatever crime the Avengers had prevented them from finishing.<p>

Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. And it was really starting to get under Tony's skin. Sure, his fellow superheroes were just as aggravated, but Tony was admittedly narcissistic, so his annoyance came first.

For about a week Tony thought he'd had something. Using samples of burnt metal, he tried to find a traceable pattern from Doom's electro-lightening powers, something to track him with. Tony whipped up a prototype device that could pick up Dooms electric field within a limited radius. However, the scrapes of metal were too old, only physically able with his eyes to tell the difference between Doom's attack and a random streak of lightening.

Tony had tested the device anyway, and then blasted it into smithereens with his right hand propulsion generator when it lead him to his microwave.

It looked like Tony was going to have to give in and admit that it was better to look for Doctor Doom the old-fashioned way; on the ground or in the sky, which they were already doing. Right after the meeting it was decided to create a patrolling schedule, paring two Avengers a night with rotating shifts.

It hadn't caught them Doom, but dumb kids would think twice before chaining an ATM to their truck and driving off with it. The Hulk can be very persuasive.

Tony had suggested that they make a quick trip to Gotham and ask Batman for some pointers on tracking down elusive criminals because they sure as hell weren't getting anywhere the way they were going. Nick had refused the idea . . . twice, leaving Tony to mutter under his breath that Fury was mad because he'd probably already asked Batman and The Dark Knight said no.

While the last bit wasn't true, at least to Tony's knowledge, the brunet wasn't happy with the lack of progress and was again trying to put together a type of tracking device, rebuilding it from the shattered remains of its forefather.

The familiar _click-clacking_ of a very expensive pair of heels Tony had gotten her last Christmas alerted him that one Pepper Potts was strutting her way to his lab. The door opened and in wafted the smell of cinnamon that followed Pepper everywhere.

Tony didn't look up, his hands currently placing very delicate wires to sensitive circuits.

"Are you still slaving over that thing?"

"Yup."

"Is . . . is that the same shirt you had on yesterday? Tony, have you left your lab at all since yesterday?"

Tony cursed as his finger touched an exposed part of a live wire and placed it in his mouth, feeling the digit cool as he glared at the offending bit of machinery, before looking at his assistant.

"Of course I have."

Pepper stared at him, an eyebrow hiding behind ginger bangs as she looked him over.

"Uh-huh, yeah,' she said, not in the least sounding convinced, 'Jarvis, when was the last time Tony left the lab?"

"Mr. Stark left the lab approximately seventy-two point-three hours ago for fifteen point-four minutes before returning." Jarvis's cool, butler-like voice replied.

"Thanks Jarvis." Retorted Tony, waiting for Pepper's inevitable reprimand.

"You're quite welcome, sir." Tony made a mental note to install him with a program that understood the subtle intricacies of sarcasm.

The young woman in front of him sighed. "Tony, you need to go out and breathe some fresh air, this is ridiculous."

"I'm _fine_ Pepper. I have half a bathroom and a refrigerator down here, thank you very much." The Iron Man went back to weaving wires together.

"Here." A letter was expertly tossed over his circuit board. The words 'South Square Winter Charity Gala' greeted him.

"Now,' perked Pepper's voice, quickly snatching Tony's very precise semi-functional circuit in a burgundy-nailed fist, 'there is a freshly pressed suit upstairs on your bed, so I expect you to be in it and on your way in thirty minutes."

Tony could only gape a moment, readying a witty comeback, before glancing down at the invitation for the Gala, suddenly wanting to get away from the abyss his superhero life was presently in and throw himself into some monotonous charity event. Hmm, it was getting pretty bad when hanging around smartly-dressed fat-cats and their plastic trophy wives was more appealing than flying around in a powered suit of armor.

"Thanks Pepper!" He called to her retreating back as she rounded the stairs.

"Have fun, boss!"

Tony picked up the letter and skimmed through it. He'd already made a donation, but was more than welcome to the party portion of the event. Reaching the end of the invitation Tony smiled, there in curvy golden calligraphy was +1 . . . and Tony knew exactly who his plus one was going to be.

* * *

><p>It was still rather early in the evening and Loki was going over an employee check, reading carefully through the reports the managers that littered his business filled out about their subordinates. He was half-way through the pile, making the occasional note on a worker that would benefit being looked into, or a position that would be better utilized if a far more competent person were to fill it. It amused him how such insignificant, Midgardian things consumed his time now, even more so that he no longer thought them unimportant.<p>

Writing down further comments onto the limited space the paper provided, Loki's hand was interrupted when the recognizable sound of his phone resonated throughout his office. Putting down the pen and massaging the kinks out of his cramped right hand with his left, the green-eyed God saw a familiar number flash across the screen.

He answered. "Hello?"

"Geez, don't sound too enthusiastic or anything. I was wondering if you'd like to accompany the one and only Tony Stark to the South Square Winter Charity Gala, because he'd be most gracious if you did."

Loki leaned back, muscles thankful after hours inactive in a hunched position over his desk. "Hmmm, Tony Stark . . . no, no, I don't think I'm familiar with that name. You may have to be a tad more specific, do I know this man?"

"Okay, Okay, I may deserve that." Loki bit back a chuckle; he wasn't nearly as upset with Tony as his words may have held. Over the last few weeks Loki wasn't blind to something plaguing Tony. Whatever it was followed the man overhead, always in the back of his mind and never too far from his attention.

It concerned Loki, and he had attempted to ask Tony what was bothering him so, however, the other man said it simply wasn't something he could talk about, and Loki understood. There were many things one has to deal with on his own, and if Tony felt that whatever was troubling him was better kept to himself, and as long as doing so didn't cause him harm, then Loki would let the matter rest.

And it wasn't as if Tony had completely locked himself away. They had still spent meals together when they could, Tony had even invited Loki to his home, showcasing an ability to cook that the God of Mischief hadn't thought the dark-eyed man possessed.

It was nice, spending time together, to know another so intricately, and, how did Tony put it? -To "rent a movie and not watch it". Loki had never partaken in such a relationship before, and it both warmed and alarmed him, to have someone so close, and to be so comfortable with it.

"You 'may' deserve that, hmm?' Loki twirled the phone cord around his finger, 'You've been completely unreachable the past week. I assumed you dead and have already gone through my stages of grief. Now you ask me to neglect that entire emotional acceptance I've gone through?" The last week had seen nothing of Tony Stark, though Loki did not feel anger towards Tony in any sense. He had his own collection of times where he distanced everyone for solitary in order to deal with his own problems privately.

"Would it help if I said being a hermit doesn't suit me in the slightest and I'm sorry?" Tony had obviously caught on to Loki's teasing, though Loki could hear sincere regret in his voice.

"It does,' Loki drawled, allowing a small smile to etch itself into his words, 'but why would I want to go to the Winter Gala? I've already donated a lovely sum that will keep me in good graces until the subsequent year, not to mention what incentive you would have to offer to get me to willingly go to an event full of socially-acceptable small talk and stiff bearing."

"You'd get to be the best looking piece of arm candy there?"

"Your extensive grasp of eloquent speech continues to astound me Tony, it truly does."

"Is that suave, British talk for 'yes'?"

Loki made a sound between a laugh and overly-dramatic sigh. "I suppose it would be cruel of me to deprive you of my presence. I'll take a cab to your home and we shall leave from there." Organizing his employee reports and throwing his jacket on Loki smiled. "You have turned me into a soft man, Tony Stark."

The last thing heard was Tony's laughter before the phone was placed upon the receiver.

* * *

><p>Glittering decorations hung from banisters, all gold and silver with metallic beaded strands. Colorful lights traced large frosted windows, giving a blurred film of the grand view of the city outside. All manners of people, each well dressed, ate and conversed with one another, their conversations overlapping the gentle tinkling of the magnificent chandelier overhead.<p>

If Loki was to be honest, it was quite a pleasant festivity. Nothing compared to the lavish and boisterous celebrations held within Asgard, but it retained a sort of elegance Loki had come to associate with the finery of Midgard and its people.

It was a very tame homage to the near obsessiveness Midgardians had for Christmas, considering its December month drawing closer as the time went on and the days slowly grew colder. Thankfully, there was an absence of the people Loki dreaded meeting during these types of occasions, though that didn't imply he wouldn't happen across some fellow business man or woman who hid their selfishness behind generosity, going on and on about how they were _such_ good people, _giving_ to the less fortunate as they did.

While Loki wouldn't deny that a reason he gave money was that it was expected of him, as a man who is considered 'rich' with a business that is doing very well. But he did care for those he contributed too, not going around shouting about what a wonderful person he was. Loki had, after all, developed something of a fondness for Midgardians, one, of course, in particular.

"I'm glad you came." A whisper in his ear.

Loki looked over at Tony, the man seeming very much in his prime now that he was among the type of people he'd gotten use too from a considerably young age.

"I'm galled to admit, but it isn't so bad." His eyes moved over the crowd, seeing nothing offered by the servers catching his fancy.

"Would you like a drink? I'm getting one myself." Tony nodded before being approached by an older man with greying hair as soon as Loki stepped away.

Finding the bar had been fast work though getting there offered a bit more difficulty. Every other step would be met with a handshake from an early acquaintance or to someone introducing themselves and their friends. Loki would say a quick greeting and politely excuse himself, not in much of a hurry to move past or in a bad mood to simply ignore.

Ordering a basic martini for himself and settling on a scotch for Tony, Loki thought about how comfortable and relaxed Tony had been since they arrived. While it hadn't happen often, Tony had a tendency to irritation over the past month and Loki hadn't minded it much, because although it may be seen as odd, the trickster was silently pleased with the fact that Tony felt he could show his true self around Loki, the man underneath the Goliath among men, who was susceptible to aggravation, the normal man who didn't always take foul comments in stride.

Loki had felt himself a witness to a part of Tony he showed very few people, and mused if whatever afflicted Tony was something related to his work, but being here, amongst his peers, those Tony interacted with in business, he was calm and enjoying himself.

Which gave little credit to being stressed from the hectic nature of Stark Industries.

The bar tender called for Loki's attention, confirming his order. Loki grabbed both beverages and turned to find Tony . . .

. . . who was in the process of being spoken to by some woman.

Now, Loki was not a jealous person by nature. The envy he felt of Thor was over the serious matter of their father's love, a feeling that turned out to be well justified. So, when he saw Tony inexcusably close to this woman, Loki did not get angry, he observed.

It became very clear that any scandalous behavior was entirely on the part of the blonde . . . no, wait, visible brown roots . . . the _brunette_-desperately-trying-to-pull-off-being-a-blonde. Loki was hardly impressed as the not-blonde pushed her breasts well into Tony's personal space, while Tony was giving subtle, yet strong signs for her to back off.

"Excuse me,' Loki spoke before the bar tender moved on to someone else, 'I would like another martini, please."

The tender nodded and quickly made up a second martini which Loki took and thanked him for. Making his way back to Tony and his newly acquired busty problem, Loki walked with the grace he was known for, the two martini glasses in his right hand clinking together with every step.

Nearing the two, Loki felt sorry for the woman's dress; high skirt, low cut, and wrapped around a size to big. The God of Mischief came close enough to hear the end of the conversation.

" . . . I can appreciate a girl who knows what she wants and really, you and your cleavage flatter me, but I'm here with someone."

The woman merely pursed her red lips and reduced the space between her and Tony's faces. "I'm here with someone too, but that doesn't mean we have to leave with them."

"I'm back." Said Loki, causing the faux-blonde to whip around and glare at her interruption, but giving Tony the time to reestablish some boundaries.

"And you are?" She actually had a nice voice, a shame it comes from the throat of such an illicit person.

Loki smiled at all the answers he could give her, but kept to a mannerly one. "Lawrence Rampet, and you?"

"Emily." It was short, pert, and was not-so-delicately telling Loki he was unwelcome.

"Mmmm." Was his reply, Loki humming as though he cared. The green-eyed man moved closer to Tony, who looked a bit uncomfortable with his current situation. Loki gave a reassuring smile and offered Tony his drink, making sure 'Emily' could see his fingers drag across Tony's as the glass was passed. If she didn't know who he was before, she was now fully aware.

"I saw you two talking while I was over at the bar and took the liberty of ordering you a drink, I do hope martinis are to your tastes." Loki took a glass from his right hand and offered it to Emily with his left, smile never faulting. Emily, whose smoky shadowed eyes flashed, recognized the lean, pale man as the obstacle he was, took the proffered drink.

Her red-painted lips curved into a mock-polite smile and raised her glass. "Of course." She answered, downing the alcohol in a single swig and gazing back at Loki, challengingly.

'Oh, silly girl,' thought Loki, greatly amused, 'you think you're a threat.'

Loki gave his own drink as small sip before Emily once again inched towards Tony. Raking her red talons over his chest, Emily leaned onto Tony. "Come find me when you want some real fun." Soon her sultry words were all that clung to Tony as Emily gave him a long-lashed wink and strutted away, hips swaying and brown-dyed-blonde hair bouncing.

"It was a pleasure meeting you." Loki called, knowing his words would be disregarded.

"Hehurm." Tony coughed, clearing the awkward air. "Lawrence, you know . . . she was the one all over me, and I tried to get her to, you know, stop molesting me . . ."

Loki laughed, brushing a quick kiss over Tony's lips. "It must be unusual for you to send them away, bearing the title of rich playboy as you do."

"Yeah, but I want you to know that I'd never-"

"Tony, if you were going to have physical relations behind my back, I would like to believe you'd have far better standards than what just walked away." Loki trusted Tony, it was difficult to admit, but he truly trusted this man. This weak, mortal man who made Loki feel more than he ever thought he could.

Tony broke out into that terribly charming grin and wrapped an arm around Loki's waist, pulling him close. "You, my good sir, are too good to be true. You aren't going to start going crazy are you? I think there's some rule about the better looking they are corresponds to how crazy they are."

Loki smirked. "I've been known to have my moments."

"Is that a promise? 'Cause that sounds kind of sexy." Loki just rolled his eyes and let Tony pull him into the crowd so they could mingle and enjoy the rest of their night.

Which was only disturbed for a moment when an hour later a shrill scream broke through the warm atmosphere. Every party-goer turned their head to see Ms. I-need-to-touch-up-my-roots herself running through various groups of people, only pausing to search out the exit.

Mumbling started up; some wondering what was going on while others answered. Emily was trying in vain to cover her mouth, for under her hand was a pair of shockingly blue lips, and behind those lips were thirty-six teeth of the exact same color.

If anyone had been focusing on Loki instead of the spectacle running nonstop to the door, they would have seen a very smug expression paired with a wicked smirk.

'Silly girl, you should have known better than to accept a drink from the boyfriend of a man you are so openly propositioning. I hope you like blue; it will be adorning your mouth for the following week."

Loki was hardly childish, but was not above a small prank to express to Emily that while he wasn't jealous, or threatened, Loki absolutely did not like to share. He was the God of Mischief after all.

* * *

><p>"Okay! We should defiantly not have taken a cab." Tony laughed out, cold and wet after their run from the cab to Tony's front door in the heavy rain.<p>

Lawrence agreed, his own clothes equally wet and sticking to his frame. "Yes, next time we go anywhere, one of use must have a car. I prefer to watch the rain opposed to being at its mercy."

The two men trudge through the first floor of Tony's home, their damp shoes squelching along the carpet. Tony made a dive into an extra bathroom to grab a couple of towels and tossed one to Lawrence. "You can go get some spare clothes from my closet; I doubt you want to sit around in a soggy suit."

"How perceptive of you." Came that smooth voice, its owner already making way up the stairs towards Tony's bedroom.

Tony remained downstairs, rubbing his towel over his head to dry out his hair. Removing his jacket, tossing it somewhere to be found later, and undoing a couple of buttons on his shirt, Tony sat down, hoping Lawrence was finding everything.

They hadn't spent any time in Tony's room, nothing moving past the living room couch, which was fine by Tony; they'd had more than enough fun down here. Fingers grasping at clothes and twining loosely through hair, mouths reluctant to break away, and tongues dancing around one another, it would get so warm when skin met skin yet could turn achingly cold when departing. Clothes would get in the way, but mostly stayed on because taking it slow was good and Tony had dozens of movies for background noise and just having Lawrence so wrapped up in him and being so wrapped up in Lawrence and-

'_Whoa_, reel back Tony,' the Iron Man silently chided himself, 'now may not be the best of times to indulge those moments.'

Luckily, Lawrence's voice from upstairs gave Tony something else to focus on instead of his less-than-innocent thoughts. "Tony, I can't find anything to wear!"

Weird. "What do you mean?"

"Come take a look for yourself!" Tony stood back up and started up the stairs. 'Let's see, Pepper did laundry last Tuesday, so I should be fine. . . Oh! I swear I'm going to kill Steve and Clint if this is revenge for last Saturday, I mean I just dyed their uniforms pink, I didn't _steal_ them.'

Tony marched into his room and pulled out the nearest dresser drawer . . . to find neatly folded and readily available shirts. Huh. Okay.

"You know," breathed Lawrence behind him, nearly causing Tony to jump. Two arms reached over his shoulders and picked at the front of his shirt. "It's such an annoyance when there isn't anything to wear. It does bring quite the dilemma, I certainly can't stay in these clothes or I might catch ill."

There was a sigh, and Lawrence drew himself closer to Tony, all the while Tony's brain wasn't so much thinking as cataloging the feel of Lawrence against him and how that voice brought shivers that would make the cold bitter.

"It really is bothersome,' he continued, not sounding bothered at all, 'looks like I'll simply have to go without . . . care to join me?"

Tony had just enough time to wipe a dumb grin off his face and settle it to a smile before a slender, pale hand took hold of his tie, compelling Tony about-face and pulling him to the bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: I do apologize again for the long wait. To those who wanted an M-rated chapter, I'm sorry to say I found myself unable to write one. I've never done so before and decided to write what flowed naturally, instead of forcing a detailed sex scene. I thank you all for your reviews and alerts, and ask that you continue to tell me what you think on the story thus far.**

In the process of tugging a very willing Tony Stark to a considerably more comfortable area, Loki felt his legs hit the back of their destination, and being somewhat more than distracted, fell backward in a rare moment of clumsiness.

However, he had very little to carp about, as a certain self-admitted narcissistic CEO came tumbling atop him.

The cushiony softness of the bed acted as an equipoise to the weight of the solid body now covering his own, leaving Loki breathless in the way that had nothing to do with an outside constriction on his chest.

Maneuvering some so they both weren't half-way in and off the bed, Loki released Tony's tie, letting it hang loosely around his neck. For a moment, neither moved, Loki's eyes trailed over Tony's appearance, clothes still wet and clinging, shaping what lay beneath (though the God of Mischief was hardly unappreciative), hair damp and ever so slightly curling at the ends, releasing water droplets, and Tony's eyes- those eyes that stared at Loki, the windows which gave insight beyond feeble concealments, the defensive personas, those eyes that could be filled with mirth yet in a blink steel over in solemnity, those deep brown eyes that have experienced pain and the atrocities of his fellow man, but were still alight with morality.

The air in the room grew steadily warmer as Tony moved over Loki, resting his hands on either side of the man under him while Loki leaned back on his forearms, lifting his head upwards to meet Tony half-way so their lips could reacquaint themselves.

Stubble scratched at Loki's chin, a feeling he never thought would be so familiarly pleasing, as Tony's lips moved with his, applying sweet pressure which Loki couldn't help but return with growing vigor. A hand trailed up Loki's neck, leaving tingling sensations in its wake and stopped below his ear, letting a calloused thumb stroke along his cheek and fingers rest in his hair, bringing them closer together.

The kiss deepened, bringing a greater heat, eliciting sounds of content from both men, and Loki was finding his usual aloofness far more difficult to maintain, something Tony took great pride in exploiting when given the opportunity, as that nameless passion spread through his veins, burning all else away. It was unsurprising when the kiss no longer supplied sufficient contact and Loki moved to rectify this heinous error. Hooking both arms around Tony's neck, however, proved a bit much for the brunet as holding both himself and Loki up with one arm a few inches above the bed was decidedly more work than it was worth as Loki felt him give away and the two landed back on the on the comforter with 'oomph!'s and muffled chuckles.

The chill of Tony's cold damp shirt in contrast with the heat of the man's skin now pressed against his own reminded Loki that it would be favorable for wet clothing to be promptly and swiftly removed. So his fingers went about their task, primed with all the deftness Loki could gather while his mind was beginning to haze and body entirely _too_ aware of every sensitivity, and began unbuttoning Tony's shirt.

It was during this fumbling that Loki became aware of how he _loathed_ Midgardians and their want of buttons.

Really, all these circular fastenings adorning a shirt just to keep it closed.

It was ridiculous.

Then Tony had the audacity to sound amused with Loki's lack of success. Loki's eyes rose to meet Tony's face. He was looking _very_ entertained and it was all Loki could do to raise a dark eyebrow challengingly in evident.

"It would do well to remind you Tony," said Loki, tracing a pale hand along his collar, movements sensual and voice low, "that I have no emotional attachments," his other hand joined the first, "nor merciful inclinations towards your clothes." And with that, he ripped open the obstinate garment, satisfied with every 'plunk' of soaring, unruly button against solid surface.

Casting an unconvincing pitying look for the reduction of Tony's wardrobe that gave away to a smirk, Loki gazed at Tony, whose features only took a moment to go from mildly surprised to predatory and descend upon his mouth in a ravenous attack while his own hands made similar work of Loki's own disheveled shirt.

Once his equally stubborn shirt was removed and cast out of sight, Tony returned to Loki's mouth, his tongue mapping familiar yet no less tantalizing territory. Loki let out a stifled moan and pulled away, answering his craving to touch, to _taste_, and caressed his lips along Tony's neck and down his solid chest, the soft illumination of the Arch reactor lighting his way.

With hands tracing over firm muscle, Loki began to take notice of the occasional scar he'd come across decorating Tony's body. Most were simply pale lines, injuries given the proper time and care, healed over long ago, while others looked harsher, more recent with jagged edges and red puckered flesh. Clearly, these were not all from Afghanistan, and it did leave Loki to wonder what position had Tony found himself in to receive such damages? One could only take their eccentrics so far.

But Loki's musings were immediately pushed aside to be re-evaluated later as Tony had apparently become impatient of Loki's casual exploration and dipped down to nip at Loki's pale neck. Sensitive too, it would seem, as his impulsive, pleasure-lined gasps and his arching into Tony gave the man all the agreement he required and continued his relentless ministrations.

It was no time at all until all other articles of clothing were removed when the need for skin to align with skin became too vast to deny any further, for body heat to be shared and to intimately know one another as completely as they could. Loki could not remember, in all his long, infinite life, ever being as free with anyone was he was with Tony. For such a private and physically distant person such as himself to not only willingly allow but _want_ Tony to be close, to know what touches make his body react and what things to say to make him feel.

It was a frightening prospect, the desire to be with another, drawing arms against the knowledge of what can happen when someone is given your trust, free reign of your entire self. The threat of your faith being snapped by their own hands, left to shatter upon the ground in shards of irredeemable dearth was always a possibility.

It could break him. It could destroy him. Loki knew this. But when he looked into Tony's eyes and felt Tony's touches and heard Tony's voice the small part of him that hadn't been hardened into calloused spite by his fall from Asgard, the part he would have not so long ago claimed weak and inconsequential, screamed with an _ache_ to try such a detrimental risk.

And Loki acquiesced.

The desire to be as close as their physical forms would allow went on into the remaining night until only names were spoken, falling from lips likes mantras, escaping on the barest breath. As passions raised and touches were not so much in wanting but needing, it was all too soon before both were spent.

All was quiet, save for rustling sheets and evening breaths, languid kisses and leisurely retreating caresses. The previous heat dissipating, Loki drew close to Tony as his mind and body requested sleep. And before the dark of his unconscious mind could fully embrace him, though Loki was unsure as to why, he was somewhat startled when Tony wrapped an arm over him and buried his face in the crook of Loki's neck, intending to hold onto him, to keep them connected during their awaiting slumber.

It touched him deeply, and Loki didn't know why. But a weight settled in his chest, somewhere around his heart, something so very light, yet ever-present, and with every breath he could feel Tony take expanse across his skin, the weight surged with something Loki was hesitant to vulgarize with words. It was a good feeling, if simply put, and it was of little concern for Loki to put his scrutiny away for the moment to relax in the presence of the man the trickster found himself slowly revealing more and more to for some cherished rest.

* * *

><p>Pepper walked briskly up the paved path to Tony's front door. She'd had a good night's sleep, an excellent cup of coffee, and no traffic to drag down what was turning out to be a wonderful morning. For once, she wasn't rushing to Tony's to tell him stocks were on the fritz, or that new secretary had more blonde than brains and made a million-dollar filing error, or that Clint had stopped by to try the new explosive arrows, resulting in a hole the size of a Cadillac in the wall of a Stark Industries testing lab.<p>

Nope. All Pepper needed from Tony was to look over and sign the month's financial expenditure allowance. It was hardly the insanity she had to man-handle on a daily basis.

So, with the ease of her morning and simplicity of her mission lending a bounce in her step, Pepper let herself in, as she always did, to her boss's house.

And it was also with her preferring to keep her good mood that Pepper dug her heel into the rising annoyance that greeted her the second she walked through the door.

Not only had Tony _not_ locked his door (superhero or not, Tony didn't sleep in the Iron Man suit, and even _his_ massive ego couldn't suppress a bullet from a couple of daring robbers), but the floor was soaking wet, something that came apparent very quickly when Pepper kept herself from a possible fractured skull by clinging onto a near-by bookshelf for dear life when her foot slid along the slippery ground, all posture forgone.

However, she was Pepper Potts, and composing herself took nothing more than a deep breath and a quick flip of hair over her shoulder. Stepping around the accident-waiting-to-happen, with stronger determination and a slight damper on her mood, Pepper continued her way to Tony's room.

The living room wasn't much better. Lucky for her, the floor was considerably less wet, though the soaked towel thrown over his leather couch wasn't met with a smile and his equally damp Valentino suit jacket gracing the glass coffee table was a little harder to ignore.

After traversing more water pools, a haphazardly dumped pair of shoes, and miscellaneous sock, Pepper wasn't quite in the high spirits she'd been before.

Narrowing her blue-grey eyes, the red-head trudged up the stairs; after all, that's where the puddles lead.

'Geeze Tony, you want a separate house from the Avengers mansion, that's fine, understandable, but would it kill you to take a mop to the floor so you _don't_ leave giant pools of water-related insurance claims?'

In a swift set of actions, Pepper barged into Tony's room and was going to show no mercy to the still sleeping crime-fighter nestled in his covers. Walking over to the bed side and grabbing a fist full of blanket, Pepper yanked it off.

"Alright Tony, for the last time, I'm your assistant, not your housekeeper! Now ge- Oh my God!"

While Pepper had seen tufts of Tony's hair and half of his face peeking out from his comforter, she had failed to notice the not-quite-as-obvious other man hidden beneath the fluffy cover sharing Tony's bed.

Well, she could clearly see the_ both_ of them now.

Eyes snapping shut and left hand flying over them for good measure, Pepper was trying very hard to say something that wasn't _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ . . .

"Ah, good morning Ms. Potts."

"Hrmm, mornin' Pepper."

"Oh God, um . . .Tony, Mr. Rampet . . . I am so, _so_ sorry, I, uh . . ." Pepper knew she had to be redder than a tomato by now, and who could blame her? She'd just walked in on her boss and his boyfriend, both _naked_.

"It's quite alright, Ms. Potts." Rampet sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Pepper wasn't sure if that was better than him being affronted.

Tony's voice rose up. "Ugh, speak for yourself, its early and cold." Pepper could hear rustling along with Tony's complaining and figured he was reclaiming his blanket, "And in case you didn't notice, some of us aren't in our Sunday best."

'Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. . .'

"Give us a minute, Ms. Potts, we shall be down momentarily."

If Pepper blushed any harder, her cheeks were going to catch fire, she was sure of it, and now that she was getting over the shock, decided she couldn't agree more that it was high-time to vacate the area.

"Look, uh, I'm going to go down stairs . . . and, yeah . . . leaving the room now." Eye lids still firmly glued together, Pepper made her way out of Tony's bedroom and didn't open them until her heels hit the tile of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Tony rubbed the sleep out of his eyes once Pepper blindly departed and looked over at Lawrence, unable to help his smile at the green-eyed man's appearance; perfectly kept hair now thoroughly tousled and a well-placed hickey at the juncture of his ivory neck that Tony was immensely proud of.<p>

Lawrence returned Tony's stare and raise an eyebrow questioningly. "What?"

"Nothing. I just distinctly remember you telling me you're not a morning person. You should have a look that could turn people to stone after that lovely little awakening, courtesy of my now mortified personal assistant."

A smirk tugged at Lawrence's lips. "Hmm. Perhaps I merely had a good night?"

Tony groaned and leaned over; licking at those devious lips which yielded for a morning kiss and Tony saw no reason why they had to get up now. Staying in bed didn't seem so bad for another hour . . . or the rest of the day . . . or the foreseeable future.

But a firm hand against his chest checked him from getting too carried away. Tony pouted. He knew he did, he was man enough to admit it.

"As much as I would like to revive our endeavors of the previous night, you have a mentally stunned friend downstairs who ought not to be kept waiting."

Tony sighed. 'Curse Pepper and her impeccable timing.'

Lawrence stretch and got out of bed, something Tony was watching completely unabashed, then placed his thumb and forefinger to his chin in thought, eyes sliding back over to Tony. Damn, those things were dangerous.

"You know Tony, it occurs to me, that sharing a shower would reduce the time to take two separately, which would leave the single shower some additional time to be more . . . enjoyable."

Oh, how could Tony stay annoyed with Pepper when _that_ was beckoning to him?

* * *

><p>Reading somewhere that doing menial tasks calmed nerves, Pepper made coffee. Lots of it. And when five minutes passed with three pots of coffee ready to drink, Pepper decided to mop the floor, because she absolutely did not feel like tripping to her death via water puddle.<p>

Finishing the floor, in a record one minute no less, Pepper sat back down at the kitchen bar and wrapped her hands around her first cup of coffee from the first batch, already cooling. She had thought about leaving. Just walking right out that door and to pretend like nothing happened tomorrow, Stark Industries wouldn't crumble to the ground if Tony didn't sign the financial allowance today.

But she couldn't. There was no way Pepper would be able to look Lawrence Rampet in the eye ever again if she left without really apologizing for . . . well, walking in on them.

It wasn't that she'd seen Tony naked. After working with the man for years and developing a close friendship it had become very obvious that the man has little to no sense of shame and Pepper had the "privilege" of seeing him in various states of undress and many times without, and while he didn't make a habit of it or anything, Pepper seeing her boss in his birthday suit had stopped being surprising a while back.

And in a weird way, it wasn't even that she'd seen Lawrence naked, though she definitely felt embarrassed and highly apologetic in doing so. Pepper had had the immense pleasure of escorting Tony's one night stands off the premises, sometimes on a bi-weekly schedule, often introducing herself while they were dressed only in the sheet they'd previously been sleeping on.

So, yeah. Strangers in various states of undress: only slightly more awkward to get accustomed to than Tony walking around without a thought for pants.

No, what Pepper really had a problem with, what she really felt the need to apologize for, was that she felt she'd elbowed in on something private, something intimate. She knew Lawrence was different for Tony, knew he meant something more than the late night shacking up. And the fact that Tony was actually taking advantage of a profounder relationship? It was something Pepper was sure she'd never see.

Tony deserved to be happy. He may be arrogant, rude, too sarcastic for his own good and not take all serious situations seriously, but he was a good man. Tony risked his life to protect people; he stood as a barrier between the bad guys and the whole of civilization, strong, but not invulnerable.

And if Tony wanted to take time for himself, to be something besides 'The Invincible Iron Man', to have lazy mornings lying in bed and quite dinners spent talking about the day with someone he cared about, then he should be allowed to, because he rarely did.

That was what Pepper was somewhat ashamed of, that Tony, just sleeping in with Lawrence, was that little something he was taking for himself, and she ruined it. The last thing Pepper wanted to do was disturb the little moments that Tony saw so few of, yet earned so much.

Footsteps coming down the stairs alerted Pepper to Lawrence and Tony's arrival. Pepper wondered if it was possible to hide in one's coffee mug, but thought better of it and took a sip, immediately regretting it. Pepper wasn't a fan plain black coffee, especially after it had gone cold.

Tony came into the kitchen first, wearing a loose sweater and sweat pants, looking like he's just stepped out of a shower, followed by Lawrence, who seemed to borrow some of Tony's sleeping clothes as he had on a pair of baggy draw-strings and a plain-T, looking like he'd too been present during Tony's shower.

"Why good morning Pepper! . . .Again." Tony had such a tickled grin on his face, Pepper just hummed into her flat coffee.

"Well I don't know about you all, but I'm feeling up to breakfast, omelets anyone?"

"I'm not all that hungry Tony." Pepper said as her boss ducked into the fridge to find omelet ingredients.

"You know Pepper, just seeing me entirely unclothed and then saying you aren't hungry leaves me to insinuate something that's making me feel rather self-conscious."

The red-head held back her remark. 'Don't forget, you feel bad that you messed up his morning . . .'

Luckily, Pepper didn't have to cling to her guilt as Lawrence fixed Tony with a _look_ and the genius raised his hands in defense and shrugged. "Don't unleash the unimpressed eye; I'm just the guy making breakfast."

A smile pulled at the emerald-eyed man and he took a seat next to Pepper, looking very relaxed and very unlike the poised, intimidating business man she lead into her boss's office those few months back. Pepper couldn't help but noticed Lawrence smile fondly at Tony as he flitted around the kitchen, heating up a skillet and moving onto whisking a couple of eggs with some cheese in a bowl.

Catching onto her staring at _his_ staring, Lawrence met her eyes and Pepper gathered up her courage, fighting back the embarrassment. 'Now is as good a time as any.'

"Mr. Rampet, I'm really, _really_ sorry about this morning."

Lawrence chuckled and Pepper actually felt her inner tension lighten. "It's quite alight, Ms. Potts. I believe from your . . . shocked expression that you were completely unaware that I was sharing Tony's company, and did not intend to see us so . . . freely." Tony coughed, a poor cover-up of a laugh, and started to whistle. "But I must ask, given the circumstances, that you call me Lawrence, as we were well past formalities twenty minutes ago."

Pepper colored but returned Lawrence's smile nonetheless. "Thanks, just as long as you call me Pepper."

"Noted." And they actually shook on it.

"Awww, aren't you two adorable?"

"Aren't you supposed to be flipping eggs, Tony?"

"Hey, I'm not the one that needed to apologize for getting an eye-full of naked."

Pepper glared. "Couldn't you have just left a sock on your door handle or something, you know, that thing all the other people with an immature college mentality do?"

"If you've kept up with the times Pepper, you'd have heard there's this new trend going around called _knocking_. One of its many uses is to check if someone's decent before bursting into their room."

Lawrence then gracefully stood up and cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid I'm not one for coffee. Tony, do you have any tea?" Tony pointed to a cabinet on his left and Lawrence turned back to Pepper and winked, who was grateful for his deflection of a brewing come-back war.

The pale man walked over to the stove after filling up a kettle and setting the water to boil before retrieving the tea.

"Would you like any, Pepper? Tony?"

Pepper shook her head and lifted up her coffee mug. Tony scoffed, "If I wanted to willingly drink tea, my forefathers wouldn't have pitched hundreds of gallons off a boat; I'm hardly going to accept the stuff now."

It was spoken with jest, Tony not even bothering to keep the smile off his face and Lawrence rolled his eyes and grabbed a cup. Then, almost coyly, he leaned over to meet Tony in a kiss, which Tony readily returned.

It was a sweet, soft moment, and Pepper suddenly felt a giddy happiness fill her at the domestic scene. Lawrence and Tony moving around each other to brew tea and finish breakfast, lending small, natural touches and quite murmuring to each other, asking simple things like, "do you want ham in your omelet?" and "can you pass me a mixing spoon?"

Pepper figured her presence was completely forgotten, if only for this small while, and found she couldn't have cared less. To see Tony in a setting so care-free, so plainly _happy_, it almost annoyed Pepper that she hadn't seen this change in Tony sooner. His smiles were more honest, his biting retorts spoken less, his impatience to be done with Avengers work because he had someone, in a sense, to return to. Tony looked like the weight of the world that had been set upon his shoulders lessened, and Pepper knew without doubt that Lawrence Rampet was to thank for this.

Lawrence was good for Tony. He was just as sharp, just as intelligent, seemed to share a similar sense of humor (though that bit did make Pepper wary), and unmistakably cared for Tony deeply. And while she couldn't say for sure, Tony seemed to be just as good for Lawrence. So Pepper sat there, watching as Tony rested his chin on Lawrence's shoulder and enfolded his arms around his waist as Lawrence stirred honey into his tea, leaning slight into Tony's gentle embrace, and oddly enough the coffee she was sipping on with a smile on her lips while bearing witness to these two men didn't taste nearly as bad as it had earlier.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Well, this was a tough chapter, and I would really like some feedback on how I did. Hopefully I was able to convey the emotion I was going for with this one. Also, just to cover my bases, I do make a regligious remark, which is in no way intended to be a stab at anyone's beliefs, so please with hold the comments of blasphemy, no offence was attempted. Thank you to all and please continue with your wonderful reviews.**

Tony would think that after a couple of years of being thrown into buildings and smashed off the sides of national landmarks and monuments, it would be the kind of thing he could just brush off by now.

But no, being the focal point of an Iron Man shaped crater on the second floor of a skyscraper wasn't getting any easier.

Dark laughter could be heard somewhere above him, over the sounds of sirens and screaming and propulsion of Doombots and the return fire of Doom's men. Because finally, after another month of long nights, twenty-four hour days, more coffee in his veins than blood, and endless dead leads, Victor Von Doom decided to make an appearance in all his metal-masked, green-hooded glory.

This time they had been ready for him. Doom had hit a third nuclear power plant, only instead of innocent plant workers, the masked villain had come head-to-head with two-hundred of S.H.I.E.L.D's finest. Two-hundred men and women's expert sights trained on Dr. Doom, two-hundred agents skilled in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat standing between Doom and his goal, two-hundred heroes ready to go down fighting.

It hadn't been pretty. There had been the anticipated injuries, though no reported casualties as of yet, and the plant itself would have to undergo some major reconstruction before being fit to handle anything more radioactive than a toaster. Doom had still gotten the generator, but not without taking a brutal hit to his forces, being sufficiently slowed down and giving the Avengers more than enough time to catch up to him.

Doom wasn't going to get away. Not this time.

Tony lifted himself out of the building he was currently embedded in and fell to the sidewalk in a less than dignified landing on his feet. Groaning, the Iron Man held himself up and collected his bearings. He could see Hawkeye on the roof of a five-story building, picking off Doombots with his peerless marksmanship, providing much needed cover to his fellow superheroes on the ground below.

Steve and Natalie were a few yards away, back-to-back and in the center of their own little group of Doom's patented menagerie. Golden boy was taking the heads clean off of the closest Doombots, his shield that doubled as a 'shoot-at-me-I'm-a-target!' bull's-eye cut effortlessly through metal frames and wires powered by the momentum of Steve's strength alone. Black Widow, the cool and collected red-head she is, was keeping to disarming the living and breathing henchmen of Doom's followers. Tony caught her placing a bullet with extreme prejudice in the knee of metal-plated minion who had gotten a bit too cocky and delivered a high kick to his face, knocking the man out cold before he even had the chance to hit the ground.

Bruce had gone Hulk early in the fight and was currently using an abandoned car as a baseball bat, sending both unsuspecting robots and men alike into walls of brick, concrete, and whatever else they had the misfortune of being thrown into. Tony may have taken a second to wince in sympathy, only he'd been slammed in a building not so long ago by their boss and enjoyed watching them get flung through the air at fifty miles an hour.

He couldn't spot everyone's favorite God of Thunder immediately, but Tony could hear the distinct rumbling of an oncoming storm that seemed to follow Thor every time he fought and figured the blonde giant was holding his own against Doom forces somewhere close by.

'Alright, time to stop sight-seeing and kick som- Whoa!'

Tony's thoughts were cut short when Steve's shield filled his vision and sliced through a Doombot that had been about to jump Tony from a blind spot on his right.

"Keep yourself vigilant Iron Man! I can't watch your back for you!"

Tony _wished_ Steve could see him roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get your starred and striped undies in a twist!"

Engaging his flight booster and taking the advantage of high ground, Tony was in the air once again. Being the only one not currently occupied, Tony retargeted Doom, wanting to finish what they started before being oh-so kindly hurled into a structure. Soaring toward the masked maniac, Tony wanted to return the favor by introducing him to a face full of Arch-energized propulsion beam.

He neared Doom when Jarvis' voice resonated in his helmet. _"Sir, it appears that, two-hundred yards away, Victor Von Doom's men are loading the stolen nuclear generator into a van."_ Tony narrowed his eyes. "Magnify location."

True to Jarvis' word, Doom's cronies were surrounding some inconspicuous van and shoving the generator in the back, probably getting ready to take off the moment Doom gave the word, maybe even sooner.

Tony was in a tight spot; to go straight for the generator, or right for Doom.

The generator was important, really, _really_ important . . . even though he still had no idea what Doom was plotting, but taking out Doom seemed the smarter option. What better way to mess up a super-secret plan than by throwing the head-honcho into a high-security S.H.I.E.L.D penitentiary? It would be like getting two birds with one billion-dollar genius in a technologically-advanced suit of armor.

Tony went for Doom. The green-cloaked villain was perched on the roof of some convenient store, and without any warning, was blasted so suddenly he almost toppled over the opposite edge, but grounded his footing just in time.

Doom whipped around to face Tony, who was hovering a few feet away. Even under the plated mask and shadows of the hood, Tony could see the anger flare up in the good doctor's eyes, the immorality behind them something no mask or elegant behavior could ever disguise. It was like staring down a caged animal without a lock on the door; the only reason it didn't jump out and attack was because it didn't _want_ to, taking the time to study and analyze, and when an opportunity opened up, strike with a primal force that forwent any intelligence or mercy.

But Tony hadn't been impressed by Doom's threatening gaze when they first met, and he wasn't impressed by it now. "Oops. Did I just put a little chink in your day Victor? I hope you don't have any plans to make off with a stolen nuclear generator today, I thought we could sit down for some coffee and catch up."

A growl escaped Doom's throat before quickly getting covered up. "Iron Man. Crawled out of that building I see." Gauntleted fists tightened and Tony readied himself for an attack. "Well you know me Doom; I'm not really one for architecture."

Doom let out a taunting laugh, even throwing his head back. "Still making jokes? Is that wise considering the situation you're in?"

"The situation _I'm_ in?" Tony's may have overdone the incredulousness, but damn was Doom a cocky bastard, and Tony would know, he basically helped define the term. "In case you haven't noticed, your Doombots are getting the hardware beat out of them, and your evil henchmen? Puh-leez, they're so two decades ago."

Doom glanced back at his men with the van, loaded and ready to leave, and then back to Tony. "You should just give up Doom, the longer we're on this roof, the quicker my teammates are going to have you surrounded. So let's just make this easier on everyone by you gracefully surrendering so we all can go home- well, except for you, but I guess if someone has been locked-up as much as you have, then a prison cell is kind of like home."

Tony wasn't so arrogant as to believe that Doom would just roll over and activated his minimal damage weapons, waiting for the backlash Dr. Doom was sure to throw at him in order to escape.

A chuckle started bubbling from Doom, never breaking into full-out laughter, but it sent a dangerous prickling along Tony's neck nonetheless. "You amuse me, Iron Man, you really do. You heroes are so caught up in your morality that you begin to transfer you type of thinking onto your enemies."

Doom slowly raised an arm and Tony was a finger twitch away from blasting the villain into the next city. "You think I've only two options; fight or flight, both resulting in me loosing. One would think that you protagonists would have finally learned that we antagonists aren't so clearly cut as yourselves. There is no honor. There is no code. No pedestal for which we place ourselves upon." Jarvis' voice spoke up. _"Sir, I am detecting a spike in the electro-magnetic field surrounding Victor Von Doom."_

Tony held his breath. "It is because of this, Iron Man, that while we villains may not always win, you heroes will always lose, even when you claim victory it will come at the price of a loss. An ignorance of ethics guides me Avenger, and whether I win today or not. You. _Will_. Lose!" And with the exclamation of his voice, Doom sent a streak of blue and white power, lightening from his hand, at the top floors of a high building far to his left, never coming close to hitting Tony.

Nevertheless, Tony returned fire and hit Doom with two propulsion blasts followed by a sequence of metal bearings and flares. Doom dogged the first blast, but was grazed by the second. The flares did the job of disorienting him so he couldn't avoid the bearings smashing into vital joints of his armor, leaving him open for another attack.

"Geez Doom, getting rust in your eyes? That wasn't even close." Picking himself off the ground, Doom stared at Tony, and though the mask obscured all other features, he was sure Doom was smiling. "Pathetic little good-doer. Still think that in a city full of defenseless targets, I'd waste my time fighting when there are other ways to get rid you?" He gestured to where his attack hit and Tony, in spite of himself, looked closer at the damage.

The building was already in bad shape and Doom's blast hadn't done it any favors. The entire thing looked ready to collapse and the heavy decorative stone borders were already falling off in chunks. But it was the ground outside the building Doom had wanted Tony to notice.

There was a boy. Some little kid with a blue shirt kneeling outside what may have been the entrance to the lobby, trying to shimmy himself under slabs of debris, completely unaware of the large masses of stone and metal framing ready to crush him.

"You see Iron Man,' Doom's voice regained his attention, slimy and full of conceit, 'it's either me or the boy. No matter what actions you take, you _lose_."

Tony didn't have time to throw a comment back at Doom. Without a second thought he soared away from the nearly-beaten villain, toward the kid like there hadn't been a choice at all, hoping he could fly faster than those crushing pieces could fall.

He made it to the boy, slowing down just short of landing and picked him up. The little kid gave a cry of "Wait!" and desperately tried to get out of Tony's grip when he took off. Already having a bit of a problem trying to fly straight without the use of his hand stabilizers, Tony tightened his grip and focused on getting out of the way before they were sandwiched between pieces of falling building and the street.

With all the other noise going off in every direction, and just barely getting out of the way of the falling building coupled with his blood rushing in his ears, Tony couldn't hear anything the kid was trying to say, and with trying to avoid any other impending dangers, wasn't really trying to. Bits of debris plunked against his armor and Tony knew his back was going to be coated with a fine layer of dry wall dust.

Looking back to where he and Doom had been, Tony was hardly surprised to see the conversational criminal mastermind gone. Wonderful.

Circling for a safe spot to land, Tony found his fellow Avengers. Natalie and Clint were cuffing the few remaining conscious men in league with Doom, and Thor, who looked like this was just another day at the gym -_seriously_, he could walk onto the set of an Aussie commercial with that hair- was finishing off a resilient Doombot that refused to let the fact that it had been cleaved in half stop it from attacking the superheroes as per its programing.

A quick swing of Mjolnir to the head cleared that right up.

No sooner than his feet touching the ground did a women burst from the crowd of civilians brave enough to wonder back into the demolished streets now that the immediate danger was over.

"Kyle!"

The woman ran up to Tony, who he presumed to be the kid's- Kyle's- mother, paying little attention to the broken glass littering her path and moving around limbs of dismantled robotic minions. All she could see was her son safe and sound and was determined to get to him.

She stopped before barreling right into him and Tony gladly held out her son to her. She was dirty, with torn clothes and messy hair. There was a cut along her left cheek and she stood somewhat wobbly on her legs. Tony was almost afraid that she'd fall over, but the utter relief coursing through her, so plainly reflected in her eyes, lent her a strength Tony admired.

Kyle looked over to his mother, face dirty with tear-brimmed eyes, and reached out to her, which was readily met when the woman took him from Tony and encased her son in her arms, holding him tight like he'd slip away if she tell go to soon, muttering "Thank you, thank you, thankyou_thankyouthankyou_" into his hair, biting back sobs.

Suddenly, she looked back at Tony, the relief falling from her features as her eyes darted around and landed back on him with a look of unexpected fear, it made the momentary happiness of seeing a boy reunited with this mother vanish and dread take its place.

"Please –I . . . have you seen another little boy? He –he'd have on a bright green jacket and carries around a panda bear." Her voice cracked as she choked out the words, each letter getting steadily more desperate as it passed her trembling lips. "Please, Jack . . . he's my youngest son, he's only four, I-I lost him in the crowd."

Tony stilled, mind racing, running through the previous battle for a little boy hiding himself away from the bad guys, black and white panda clutched tightly to his chest.

Nothing. Tony hadn't seen him. People tended to steer clear and duck for cover when the Avengers and their nemeses clashed, leaving busy city blocks and traffic-jammed motorways deserted. No, he'd seen only Kyle, only Kyle trying to work his way under the small opening between the concrete slab and the ruined street beneath it, something no kid, no matter how frantic for cover, would do when there were recognizably safer places around, unless there was a reason, something important, almost like trying to get to someo-

No . . .

A small and fragile voice reached his ears, a conversation he hadn't heard start up when searching through his head. " . . . I'm s-s-sorry mommy, I-I'm sorry. I tried to get him to come out, b-but he was so scared, h-he wouldn't move . . ."

. . . _No_.

People and buildings became colored blurs when Tony took off. Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_ It was obvious, _so obvious._ What kid would dive into collapsed rubble? He was trying to get to his little brother! Trying to persuade him to move- and he- he grabbed the kid without thinking, without stopping to consider that there may have been a reason the kid was trying to get under the fallen slabs, a reason why he was so hysterical to get out of Tony's grasp when he had saved him, a reason why a little kid who was way over his head in danger cried for Tony to stop.

Because Kyle's little brother was afraid, had squeezed himself into a dark, hidden place, away from the explosions and screams and fighting, and all he had for comfort was his older brother, telling him it would be ok and trying to get him out from under the rubble.

And Tony had taken Kyle, no thoughts, no questions, no_ time_ . . . thinking to save a little kid while leaving another to be buried.

He'd left a terrified child to die.

Tony landed,_ hard_, ignoring the stress on his armored joints and the newly formed crater from his touchdown, threading more cracks into already ruined pavement. He went to where he had seen Kyle crouched down, covered in the stone masses that had threatened to crush them, and immediately began ripping the merciless wreckage away.

Dig, he had to dig. He had to get to that little boy named Jack because there was a chance, and there was always, always a chance. Because he was a superhero, and superheroes saved kids and returned them to their parents -God, there was so much, he had to keep going- and he was going to be _damned_ if a little kid died when Tony had been less than _three feet away!_

His suit groaned as he lifted a particularly heavy slab, but Tony ignored it, the armor had been through hell today, it could last through a bit more.

A hand gripped his shoulder, halting him as his moved more concrete out of the way. The hand turned out to be attached to one Norse God of Thunder, and behind him, Natalie and Clint were catching up. Good, he could use some help.

"Tony . . ." Thor's voice was soft, a real distinction to its natural loud and jovial tone. It was full of finality, of defeat . . . of someone ready to say that there wasn't any point and to just stop trying because it was utterly and completely useless.

Tony wouldn't hear it.

"There's a little kid under all of this Thor,' he grunted, keeping a large chunk of brick from falling onto the space he was clearing, 'and he has an older brother who braved a battle field to try and save him, looking out for him like he was supposed to. What am I if I don't at least _try_?"

An odd look came over Thor, something that flashed grief and responsibility, it was distant, but expressed with layers of pain and past that it reminded Tony of the fact that anyone was subject to phantoms of guilt, painful things that could claw their way out of the bright eyes and big smiles they were concealed under.

But any lingering, ancient depths known only to Thor were pulled back as his features settled into a hardened determination and joined Tony in removing the avalanche of ruined building.

They dug; moving debris carefully yet quickly while Natalie and Clint stayed on crowed control. Steve was probably with Bruce, being one of the few that could take a hit from the Hulk and live, just in case Bruce wasn't back to his passive, meditative self yet.

Tony felt time move by both sluggishly and way to fast. Each moment gone by was one more against them, diminishing the chance, but he couldn't stop. Plated fingers grated along the stone, sounding colder and more unresponsive as he continued digging, lifting, and hauling. There was just so much and anyone with half a realistic state of mind would have stopped, but Tony couldn't, he honestly _couldn't_. His body was on autopilot and he didn't dare think beyond the simple task at hand; '_Keep digging until you find him, superheroes don't stop. Keep going_.'

One more jagged, crumbling, hunk of wreckage out of the way and Tony found something that finally did make him stop.

A bear. A dirty, black and white, stuffed panda with a tear along its right shoulder. And next to it, a hand . . . a small hand connected to an equally small, proportional body wrapped in a washed-out green jacket, his fingertips only a few inches away, almost as if reaching out for the fuzzy toy, a final companion amongst all the terror.

Thor carefully, slowly, picked him up, looking even smaller and more fragile being supported by the large, muscled arms of a God. A cry rang out and Tony could see the woman, face contorted by pain that a physical attack could never replicate, holding her living son close, shielding him from the inevitable.

Natalie ran over; first aid training proving useful and life-saving on more than one occasion, but Tony knew it wouldn't matter. He could see, and maybe it was reality catching up with him, but he knew. There was a face that could be mistaken for sleeping, except that it was covered with grime and dust. Eyes that were peacefully closed, matching a still chest over a motionless heart that had stopped beating before Tony could reach him.

So when Widow shook her head and the mother fell to her knees and Thor placed the body of the little boy named Jack gently on a patch of sparse, undisturbed ground, Tony only heard a faint echo in his mind, a memory of a sudden, obvious truth.

"_In proclaiming our modern-day superheroes as our eternal protectors, what are we doing? We are ascending them to a level of Gods, believing that they are some indestructible force, unaffected by basic mortal needs."_

Tony could almost laugh, if he didn't think the effort alone would break him. Not only had the people thought them Godly, but the superheroes themselves got caught up in the delusion. Tony had seen death, inadvertently caused death, and even came close to it a fair number of times, but it seemed that lately, he'd forgotten how truly powerful it could be.

He'd deluded himself into thinking he was better than the everyday person, and not because he was egotistical and narcissistic, but because he had a nifty piece of technology that allowed him to fly faster than a SR-71 Blackbird, that kept him from any serious injury when being shot at, or set on fire, or blasted out of the sky, or thrown through buildings, that equipped him with the name 'Iron Man' and the title of superhero, that people saw and looked up to him because he was in a position where he should be able to do anything.

And it would seem, for a while, he really had thought he could. Tony learned responsibility, a harsh lesson that would stay with him until the day he died, but it looked like responsibility still felt the need to backhand him every once in a while, because this . . . this was something he should have been able to prevent.

The plant workers that died, he knew that day what everyone knew; that Doom would be stopped, that the deaths of those men and women were cruel and pointless. But Tony hadn't been there, none of them had, and so their responsibility had been to keep Doom from doing that again, because they were the only ones that could.

They were the only ones that could . . . how vain that sounded. And while to a degree it was true, supervillains tended to be dealt with better by superheroes; it also made them sound like they were some unstoppable power, something that couldn't be touched, something that didn't adhere to the fixed laws of the universe . . .

And it was wrong.

Because it didn't matter if he had been Iron Man, the savior, or Tony Stark, the self-absorbed rich man, having "superpowers" hadn't saved that kid, being a "superhero" couldn't bring him back to life, and having all the praise in the world for being an Avenger couldn't help him find the words to walk over to a mother who had just lost her son and explain why the _super_-"hero" hadn't been able to keep her child safe.

Tony wanted to grabs fists full of his hair and pull, to do some kind of action that displayed this inner turmoil, his lack of detachment over the situation, but he couldn't, because he was in the suit. The suit not only protected him from harm, but the people he protected from seeing his weaknesses . . . and how could Iron Man be seen ready to rip his hair out over the helplessness of it all?

What kind of hero was that?

He wasn't any better. Sure, he was smarter than your average genius, had built something that made him super strong and fly really fast, had enough money to buy a large group of islands and name each one 'Isle de Stark', but at the end of the day, when Jack had been buried underneath tons of stone, trapped, scared, breathing in dust and surrounded by the dark, when the he closed his eyes for the last time and the life that he had been faded away, none of it had mattered.

He couldn't take it anymore, standing in the aftermath of it all. Everyone working their way back into the streets, determining how best to go about their day after this little battle, police and S.H.I.E.L.D agents doing damage control, medics patching up anyone who had physical proof of the villainous attack.

He couldn't take looking at the small body of a boy who hadn't even begun his life and realizing that Doom was right, that no matter what, he would always lose.

Taking off faster than was safe in an area rapidly becoming crowded probably wasn't a wise idea, but he didn't care. Natalie yelled after him, but he didn't respond. Tony flew, pushing his suit to its limit. He didn't really know where he was going, or when he would get there, but that was just fine. Any place, anywhere, as long as it wasn't _there_, that dark spot, the isolated moment, of his defeat.

* * *

><p>It was raining. Crystalline droplets of water were cascading down form the skies, replenishing dry earth, puttering against the metal and glass of the city and soaking any who thought to be out at this hour; that was what Loki had first become aware of when he awoke.<p>

Only he realized, after a moment or two of blearing into the darkness of his room, eyes far to tried to stay open and listening to the sounds of the weather, sanctioning it to lull him back to sleep, did a noise cut through the peace and calm, giving to Loki realization that he had been pulled from his slumber, rather than simply and casually waking up.

That was an annoying discovery indeed and set Loki in the bad mood he was often associated with when roused.

Loki growled and rolled over, body resenting every movement stirring it from previous rest. Bright green eyes, almost luminous in the dark, found the digital clock on the bedside table next to his bed.

The once-God glared, the red numbers of the clock shone clear, mocking him with each blink, silently laughing at his torment for being awake at three-seventeen in the morning, if one could call such an hour 'morning'.

A few scarce times before had Loki come seconds close to obliterating an inanimate device for failing to perform its function. However, this clock was merely displaying the time, as it was to do, so Loki spared himself the task of purchasing a new one, reminding himself that it wasn't the clock's fault he was up well before a reasonable hour, but the one unfortunate enough who decided that now would be a good time to visit him and ring his door bell.

He threw off his bed covers and motioned with his hand, turning on the lights of his room; a stubbed toe was _not_ something to add to his foul mood.

Loki grabbed a night robe that had been tossed over a chair, uncommon with his tailored and organized style, but Loki allowed himself moments of disarray; a new habit he was sure stemmed from his evolving relationship.

He didn't bother to check himself in a mirror, if someone was so desperate to see him before the sun even rose, then he or she would do so in the presence of all his unkempt, dark underlined, wrinkled clothed irritation.

Walking through his home slowly, ridding himself of the final dregs of sleep clinging futilely to his dissipating unconscious, Loki was in no hurry, finding that many Midgardians held respect for another's repose in low regard. It was an appalling lack of thought and Loki, recalling one of the very limited fond memories he kept of Asgard to compare with his current life, did recognize that at the very least, in his previous home, one was not disturbed from sleep save for severe importance.

So, if this was another one of those garrulous insurance sellers, or insufferable religious fools asking if he has "found Jesus Christ to be his lord and savior", then the Nine Realms help this suicidal mortal because he would buy the largest, most impressive mansion he could find just to properly display the severed head on a exquisitely ornamented mantle over his newly-acquired fire place.

Loki's flat was not very large, so he had very little ways to walk, though his temper had more than an adequate amount of time to simmer, he paused before his door to remind himself that most humans were not fire retardant and so being aggravated enough to set one ablaze the moment he or she made to speak, perhaps it would be kind to take a breath in serenity.

The door knob felt cool beneath his hand as Loki turned it. Odd, considering most things were warm in comparison to his naturally low body temperature, nevertheless, long, pale fingers tightened their grip and Loki opened the door to face his considerably early morning visitor.

Any aggravation, irritation, or otherwise sub-par anger that had prompted Loki from his bed fled his mind when he saw who was on the other side of the entrance.

"Tony?"

Tony was outside his door, entirely soaked by the incessant rain, dressed in simple clothes that clearly had not been put on in mind of the weather. But that was not what had Loki at a complete loss for words, a lack of response to Tony's abnormal arrival. No, it was not that Tony looked as though he'd just traversed an ocean, or that he was showing up on Loki's doorstep at a simultaneously late and early time, it was his expression.

Weariness, weariness and loss. Tony looked very much like someone had taken a fundamental belief and stripped it down, each layer torn away revealing some greater fault, more so than the last. Loki knew such a look well, he mused that he himself must have had such desolation upon his face when discovering what he truly was, the stolen monster beneath the deceitful Asgardian glamour.

Although, Loki had not tried to drown his newfound truths in alcohol, but it seemed as though Tony had attempt too, if his glazed eyes and swaying posture were any indication.

The longer Loki took in this image of Tony, the more he saw that he could not infer, the more worry that picked at his mind and edged around his heart.

Not to mention that he had been standing there for a good couple of minutes and Tony had failed to acknowledge that Loki had even opened the door, let alone said his name.

"Tony." He said his name again, with less shock and more presence.

Brown eyes, looking at something much farther than the present now, focused on Loki. "Hey." Tony's voice was not so much slurred, but low, hollow, matching the weak, empty grin he was struggling to support. "Sorry it's so early, but, uh . . . it's rainin', heh, and I'm kinda wet."

Loki said nothing in response, merely stepping out into the pouring weather and put a hand on Tony's upper arm, gentle but firm, to guide him inside. The billionaire genius stumbled a bit, though Loki was not sure if it was from inhibition due to being drunk, or from whatever caused Tony to drink in the first place.

The trickster led Tony to his couch, not caring once about the water that was sure to get everywhere. They both sat, knees close to touching, and still Loki kept his light grasp on Tony, even when the man buried his face in his strong hands and occasionally ran them through his wet hair.

Loki was worried, unsure if he could do or say the right thing to help Tony, to find out what was wrong, to not make everything worse. There were moments where Loki _did_ resent his lack of experience due to emotionally distancing himself at an early age, and this was one of them. But the concern gouging out his chest was too great to deter, and Loki was not one to be easily dissuaded, no matter the fragility of the situation.

He brought his other hand up, cupping Tony's cold cheek to ensure he had his attention and held his eyes with his own.

"Tony, _please_, tell me what is wrong."

His voice sounded abnormally desperate with those words.

Tony laughed, if that small, forced, rasp of a noise could be described as such. "I'm just- just finally getting it through my thick skull that what I do really isn't all that important in the grand scheme of things, 'bought time, huh?"

It was a broken response, vague and vacant, accompanied by a pathetically attempted amused tone . . .

And it struck at Loki in a way no blade could.

Whatever this was, this grotesquely transparent mask of cheeriness, _laced_ with self-disregard, this was not the cocky, overly confident, charming man Loki knew Tony to be. This _thing_, a deeply buried pain, for nothing else could burrow into Tony's strength and toss it aside so suddenly, was a consuming agony, recently freed and inflicting itself upon Tony in devastating waves.

Loki did not know what caused the sudden break in Tony's defenses, and he had a feeling that the man would not reveal such to him, not tonight anyway. But it didn't matter, for now, Loki would not pry. Instead, he wrapped both arms around Tony's shoulders and pulled him close. He was in pain, and Loki would not, _could_ not, leave him without comfort.

Tony held him back, holding onto Loki like he was an anchor, keeping him grounded, away, even if temporarily, from the pain. Tony did not cry, did not make any other sound, but his grip tightened, almost as if in fear that Loki would fall from his arms, or maybe in trying to obtain as much comfort from Loki's embrace as he could.

Loki did nothing more than continue to hold, reassuring through the physical contact that he would not let go, that he was there for anything, for everything. It reminded Loki of when Lady Frigga, the woman he once knew as his mother, would find him in emotion upheaval when he was a child, be it from Thor's unkind taunts or the other children of the court of Asgard's complete disregard of him. When he was at his end, and had taken as much as a child could hope to take, and finally let his tears fall in expression of his anger over his obvious differences and how he was treated for them, his once-mother would find him, shaking and tear-stained, and hold him close to her, speaking to him soothingly and rocking gently.

Loki could remember wondering why, after his tears were spent and his face dried, why would his mother tell him that all would be well, that everything would get better? Even as a young child, Loki knew Frigga could not know such things, she could not assure him that his distraught over his differences would eventually go away, that everyone would like him for who he was, yet she did so nonetheless.

Loki could not understand then, but he did now. Being here, holding a man he cared for who was moments away from shattering, both cold and wet, nearly clinging to each other on a damp couch in a dark living room at well past three in the morning, Loki wanted nothing more than to tell Tony that everything would be alright, that whatever it was that caused this pain would leave and he could return to being the flirtatious, light, mostly unprofessional business man he normally was.

Because Loki could not bear to see Tony this way, it hurt to see him in such a state, and Loki wanted to do anything to protect Tony from his suffering, even telling him that all would be well in the end, and Loki wanted nothing more than for his words to be true.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: I'm again sorry for the wait, writting this chapter was like pulling teeth. This is actually only half of what I intended this chapter to be, but as I continued to write, it got ridiculously long, so I decided to split it for some breathing room. I'll be posting the second half as soon as I'm done editing it. Thank you all for your wonderful comments and alerts.**

"Ughhhh . . . I feel awful."

"Stop whining Tony."

"But Pepper- I can't _feel_ my _face_."

There was an exasperated huff, and not the first of the morning. "Then you shouldn't have been running around in the rain without a coat. What did you think would happen, that your self-importance would protect you from viruses?"

"Ughh . . ." Tony rolled over sluggishly, encased in mounds of blankets and bed sheets, still unable to find a position where he didn't feel like crap. "My nose is like a snot fountain and I'm a few good coughs away from hacking up a lung."

Pepper grimaced over the paper work she was going through, seated in her favorite chair in Tony's livingroom. "Attractive, Tony, real attractive. Why don't you go to bed? There's more room there than on your couch."

"'Cause this is where I always vegetate when I'm sick. It's like a tradition."

"It's something parents let their kids do when they don't feel well so they can watch television while they stay home from school. You're a grown man Tony."

"If I promised you a pay raise could you try to be a little more sympathetic, Pepper? It hurts to _move_."

Pepper rolled her eyes, muttering "big baby" under her breath and returned to writing stuff down.

Tony looked over at her a second longer, finding no pity whatsoever, before moving himself around again and buried his head under his blankets. Every muscle ached and Tony just couldn't seem to get a restful sleep, no matter how tired he was. His eyes felt heavy, his sinuses were swollen, his head had to be full of the stuff they fluff pillows with, and Tony was pretty sure that he alone had contributed thirty percent to the overall sale of Puffs tissues in the span of two days.

Not to mention that he wasn't allowed back in HQ until he was well again.

Being sick sucked.

Tony rolled over once again and groaned. He knew whenever he came down with something, _no_body wanted to be around him, so Pepper's lack of sympathy really wasn't all that surprising. A sick Tony was a heavily avoided Tony because when the inventor-turned-superhero was at the mercy of an illness, he made absolutely sure to devote every hoarse-throated, sleep-deprived, fever-induced second to letting _everyone_ know how not-well he was feeling. So the moment Tony had more than two consecutive sneezes in a row; it was every tights-wearing crusader for himself.

And Pepper had, though completely against her will, drawn the short stick.

But that wasn't why she was so hostile.

Shuffling back to the Avengers mansion looking like hell warmed over in the late afternoon after taking off without a word and leaving his teammates with no idea where he was, had, to put it lightly, pissed Pepper off.

* * *

><p>Tony had woken up with a stiff back and tight chest, blurry eyed with a miniature hangover looming around the edges of his brain. He brought a hand to his head in a hopeless attempt to placate the painful thudding inside his skull, taking a good few minutes to collect himself and realize where he was.<p>

He happened to be in Lawrence's home, on Lawrence's couch. Tony knew this because he was not the only one who had been sleeping on said couch. A familiar lean figure was resting against the arm of the sofa, head against the arm draped over the side and hand in his lap where Tony had been previously laying.

Tony stared at Lawrence, clad in a light green robe, sleeping in a position that was probably going to be the cause of some sore muscles later on in the day, with smudges of dark under his closed eyes indicating an interruption of sleep. The Avenger tried not to focus on the stab of guilt for coming to Lawrence's flat drunk off his feet and waking him up at some unholy hour only to then pass out on the man's couch.

Trying not to stir the sleeping man, not something easily done when you're hung-over and being called less than graceful would be a severe overstatement of his abilities, Tony moved to the far end of the couch, the events of the day before slowly creeping back into conscious thought, scratching at his still brittle control.

"Tony?" The voice was smooth- extraordinarily soft against his throbbing head. Lawrence was awake, face impassive but green eyes trailing him, minding the space between them.

They sat like that for a moment, staring at one another. Well, more like squinting in Tony's case as the sunlight filtering into the room really wasn't helping his hangover and Lawrence was more trying to evaluate without being intrusive.

"Are you alright?" It was said carefully, without any hint of prying or demand, and Tony couldn't have been more grateful, because the honest answer was no, not really, and they both knew it. It was obviously not the first question Lawrence wanted to ask, holding back what must be a cascade of questions that would be far harder to answer, at least right now, in favor of picking an ambiguous, easier one, one that didn't mandate all the little details and inner workings of Tony's mind to be revealed at that very moment.

Tony was grateful that the unavoidable was being delayed, if only for a little while.

"I will be." Ugh, he hit the bar hard. Even his _words_ tasted bad.

It wasn't much of an answer, but it was the best one Tony had, the one closest to the truth, because he _had_ to believe it. There wasn't really any other option.

Those emerald eyes remained on him, glossing an inner conflict that his pale, elegant features refused to show, until his expression softened and the breath Tony hadn't known he was holding escaped when it was made obvious that Lawrence wasn't going to call Tony out on his intentionally non-specific reply. "Alright." The response was an exhale. Any other person might think that that meant Lawrence was letting the situation go without a fight, but Tony wasn't any other person, and could clearly hear the 'but we _will_ talk later' under the breath of his admission.

Almost immediately Lawrence stood up, wincing slightly in pain as he rolled his shoulder a bit, and walked to his kitchen. Tony just sat there, staring at the space Lawrence had been, listening to the sounds of clanking glass and running water, all the while trying very hard not to think of anything.

He didn't want to think about yesterday. He didn't want to remember his failure. He didn't want to face his weaknesses.

He didn't want to confess he had any.

_"If you could make God bleed, people will cease to believe in him . . ."_ Tony, despite his self-admitted many, _many_ egotistical flaws, never thought his was a God. Maybe a little larger than life, but he never deluded himself into thinking he was above it.

Was he Rich? Of course. Smart? Naturally. Handsome and charming? Yes on both accounts.

But was he untouchable?

Not even close.

After all, as yesterday so thoroughly demonstrated, there are plenty of ways to make him, plenty of ways to dispel faith, even if it is in himself.

And he must have spaced-out, because in the next second there was a dip in couch and an ivory-skinned, dark-haired Englishman in front of him; a glass of water in one hand and a couple of aspirins in the other. It took Tony a minute to make the connection between 'aspirin', 'water', and 'the pounding in his head', but once his brain caught up the playboy genius mustered a half-hearted smile and took the offered hangover remedy.

The next twenty minutes was limited conversation sprinkled with minor shuffling around. The aspirin had taken the edge off of Tony's alcohol-induced headache and he was uncommonly, though expectedly quiet, while Lawrence gave him space and changed into something that wasn't wrinkled from being slept in the night before.

Only when a steaming cup of something decidedly not-coffee was placed in his hands, being exchanged for the water from earlier, did Tony's voice return. The 'less-than-invincible' Iron Man took a whiff.

"This is tea."

"How observant of you."

"I don't like tea."

Lawrence sat down beside him and said, "I fail to see your point."

Well if that isn't an "I don't care if you do like or don't like tea, drink it" then Tony didn't know what was.

Figuring that it may help more with getting rid of his migraine, Tony took a sip, only to have his tongue recoil at the distinct lack of caffeine . . . and really in flavor in general.

Tony held the cup at arm's length, eyeing it distrustfully. "I can't believe that_ this_ is what you drink on a daily basis." How could something so _bland_ be a necessity served in expensive patterned china at social gatherings for people with fancy accents and monocles?

Showing his amusement at Tony's comment, Lawrence took the cup and brought it to his lips, drinking the tea without as much as a grimace. The cool hand returned the cup, a pulling at the corner of those soft lips accompanying its return.

"I can assure you, Tony,' he said, a shadow of that mischievous glint Lawrence had distinct in his eyes, 'that is the exact tea I favor. Perhaps if you did not drown your taste-buds in instantly made coffee multiple times a day, you could enjoy a higher caliber of drink."

Tony narrowed his eyes, though more in playing than real annoyance. His brain, for Tony was very sure that after years of perfecting snarky come-backs, doing so was as natural as any reflex, already had a retort on the tip of his tongue. "Someone's just upset that his 'high class' drink is used more by phony fortune-tellers reading B.S. messages in tea leaves than people who willingly enjoy it."

Both eyebrows were raised and Lawrence met Tony's gaze with a set for a challenge. Yes, this was better. Much better. The two of them matching wits was something they did a lot. Sparring matches equipped with words was entertainment to them both, each trying to get the best of the other. The normalcy of this back-and-fourth gave his mind focus, keeping it from returning to . . . other thoughts.

And if the diminutive successful smile Lawrence was showing told Tony anything, it was that the other man was very aware of what he was doing.

Their banter didn't go on for too much longer, Tony finishing with, "Cleary this has to be the result of some weird European custom beginning thousands of years ago because if you were really listening to yourself, you may notice that you're trying to pass off _glorified tree leaves_ left to stew in boiling water for five minutes as some kind of beverage." And in response, Lawrence bowed out with, "You've caught us, Tony. It is common practice in England to feed tea to our children at a young age so they may drink it in abundance when they are older in that they might forever bewilder the coffee-consumers and refreshment-illiterate of America."

It wasn't much, but by the end of it, Tony found himself managing a smile, as empty as it was and how painful it felt, but it was_ something_. And with this tiny step forward, Tony decided it was time to get going, and at the very least check back in with his team, before an emotional backslide hit and things he didn't want to talk about were brought up.

"I should probably go,' Tony stood up, waiting for his legs to un-jellify and Lawrence stood with him, 'I haven't talked to Pepper for almost a whole day. Any longer and you'll be reading in the paper about a 'most unfortunate accident resulting in bodily harm has left Mr. Tony Stark unavailable to comment on his current condition.'"

A brief chuckle escaped Lawrence, coating his voice in amusement, "Hmm, you might have a point. I suppose if you see her in person, she may be inclined to give you a five-second head start." Tony moved and nodded. "Only if she's feeling generous."

It wasn't a lengthy walk to the front door, but with the strange pull of wanting to stay versus the realistic determination to get back to his team before _they_ started looking for _him_, Tony was relieved when some fresh air and time to be by himself was only a potentially awkward good-bye away.

"Do you need a ride back home? I could take you, or call a driver." Tony gave a crooked smile at Lawrence's offer. "Nah, I'll pick up a cab near the end of the block."

Aside from working a look that screamed "I have no idea how to use an iron", Tony was ready to go, hand stalling on the door knob. The CEO of a multi-billion dollar company with more issues then was generally regarded healthy still had problems opening up about himself, saying what he wanted to without covering it in sarcasm or wording it in arrogance, but looking over at Lawrence, the man who didn't leave his ass out to sober up in the rain, it made him want to _try_. To try and tell this wickedly handsome, silver-tongued man who left his bed to sleep with a drunk on a couch not meant for two to sleep on, that besides Pepper, Tony wasn't sure there was another person on the planet who would do that.

Alright, take a breath and tell him. "Lawrence, I want to . . . ," Okay, okay, he could do this, ". . . to tell you, uh, you know . . . ," Lawrence stared at him, patient and waiting for whatever it was Tony was trying to say, "thanks for, um, letting me . . . ," _Come on_, just be honest, ". . . spend the night."

Wow.

Ladies and gentlemen, Tony Stark; world renown businessman notorious for his charisma and outstanding way with words. Watch and be amazed.

Despite wanting to bang his head off the door frame a couple of times, Tony supposed it was the effort that counted. "Yeah, I'm going to go now." Lawrence had an odd kind of smile, like he was battling if he should be bemused by Tony's sad attempt at _feelings_ or not. Tony just wanted to leave because if things could get worse, they would.

But before he could escape, a firm hand grabbed his arm and he was turned to face Lawrence, light expression gone to something more temperate. His eyes were downcast a bit, internally mulling something over and then looked back up.

"Tony . . .,' Tony wondered if Lawrence ever noticed how soft his voice would get, and how regardless of its quiet tenor, it demanded and called for attention. 'I want you to know, you can talk to me," the hand grasping his arm was brought up and traced gently along his cheek, a thumb stroking along under his left eye, tracing over the dark circle; a small indicator of the effect his inner turmoil was causing. "Because I . . . I do _care_."

Tony enclosed Lawrence's hand with his own and leaned in and kissed him, nothing demanding or desperate, just hoping to push away all the doubt and insanity and just show in action what he couldn't put together in articulate sentences.

He pulled away to rest his forehead against Lawrence's. "Thank you."

Behind dark lashes, emerald eyes slid up to meet Tony's. "Oh?' he said quietly, 'For what?"

"For caring."

* * *

><p>So Tony left (catching a cab isn't all that hard when you're super-famous) and returned to the Avengers mansion. Going inside and making his presence known had not been the flocking craziness Tony dreaded it would be. Jarvis welcomed him the moment he stepped through the door and Tony hadn't seen the others until he ventured the kitchen.<p>

Everyone was in some stage of finishing lunch. Bruce was glued to a laptop screen, taking a bit out of a sandwich, Thor looked like he was polishing off an entire bucket of KFC, Clint and Natalie were sharpening throwing knives and cleaning guns, and Steve was the only one who seemed to be putting the time into having a well-balanced meal.

Tony made his way over to the coffee pot, which was completely full (and the coffee pot was never, _ever_, full), receiving the usual brands of "Good morning/ afternoon" from his team and most likely Thor, though it was hard to tell when the God was talking over a chicken leg and half a wing.

Inhaling the glorious scent of Maxwell House, Tony was able to appreciate just how suspiciously normal everything was. No one was giving him funny looks or asking him what the hell happened the other day. It was just a regular mid-morning, as far as being a superhero was concerned, and everyone was acting like Tony hadn't had a major melt down within the last twenty-four hours.

And they were doing it on purpose; Tony knew that for a fact. Everyone had that point, the moment in this particular line of work when enough was enough and you fell to your knees, screaming at the sky, asking if any of this meant anything. Didn't matter if it was caused by a new super-villain spawning every week, a city being brought down to its foundations, an angry and terrified public, . . . _death_, or an accumulation of things that hits in the middle of the night, slapping you with reality and leaving you soaked with cold-sweat and a much bleaker outlook of the future- it was the breaking point, and everyone had one. It was just a matter of when it happened and if whoever was in the middle of it had the strength to overcome.

So his fellow Avengers were giving him space; the time to lean against the counter and drink his coffee, to deal with the other day as best he could and be there if he needed help. They weren't going to hold Tony's hand over this hurdle and he didn't want them too, because it was his to deal with, and he was very happy with their current strategy of backing off but not be obnoxious about it.

It was times like these when Tony could look at the two assassins with differing recollections of a mission in Budapest, the nerdy scientist doubling as a green, anger-induced monster, a lightening-lobbing demi-god, and _not_ think how weird it was that they were some of the greatest friends he'd come to know.

Of course, the elephant-ignorant air of the room couldn't hold forever and in walked Nick Fury, trench coat swishing so dramatically that Tony was struck with wondering if giving the armor a cape would contribute additional coolness. Tony wasn't so worried about Fury, the man just gave a look that read, "I don't care how you do it, but get your shit together, fast", which is pretty impressive with only one eye, and said that Tony needed to be debriefed and caught up to speed with the effects of Doom's last attack.

So no, Nick Fury was someone Tony could handle, and being Fury's special pain-in-the-ass was what he delighted in doing. No, what had _him_ cautious was his personal assistant following behind, hot on Fury's leather-booted heels and wearing a face that clearly wasn't going to be as casual about his abrupt disappearance and reappearance as the rest of the group.

This had Tony not-so-subtly scope out which of his "dear" friends would make the best meat shield.

To her unyielding credit, Pepper was far more worried than angry. She knew, better than most, that when Tony was having difficulty with something that went deeper than the surface, he had a tendency to get drunk and do stupid things. Not always in that order, but never one without the other. Pepper was afraid that one day Tony was going to go too far and wind-up dead in a ditch somewhere.

However, even after her calm and professional way of telling him off, Pepper hadn't really confronted Tony about yesterday.

But that didn't mean Pepper wasn't finding whole new reasons to show her concern-turned-anger.

Anything, big or small and Tony was given an annoyed look and irked tone of voice, and going into day three of taking care of an ill Tony Stark hadn't helped smooth things over. At. All.

But Pepper's attitude couldn't take all the blame, oh no. Multiple times the red-head attempted to talk with her boss, to get him to let her in, just a bit. And although she never pushed, Tony had gone from politely changing the subject, to entirely ignoring it, and more often than not, met Pepper's moderate inquires with more hostility than justified.

It was a nick in a strong and lasting relationship, but a nick nonetheless.

And Pepper really didn't deserve it.

Tony withdrew from his cocoon of sheets, stared at the ceiling, and sighed. "Pepper?"

"_Yes_, Tony?"

"Believe it or not, I'm really not trying to be difficult . . . at least not this time." Out of his peripheral vision, Tony could see Pepper looking less annoyed but more weary. "It's just . . . hard."

Pepper exhaled and for a moment, Tony could see the burden of worrying about him she chose, for whatever reason, to bear. "I know Tony,' she said, sounding like this was a crack in the weight on her chest, " but I worry about you, the others do too, and when you go off like that, I'm afraid you forget how much and how many people care about you."

"Actually,' Tony shifted, fighting the urge to grin, 'I've been told recently about how I'm cared about. I think I'll start listening."

Putting her paperwork down, Pepper reached out from where she was sitting and placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. "That's good Tony, because you _do_ deserve it, but if you ever take off after something that bad again without a least texting someone that you're in one piece, you'll find the files that mysteriously vanish from your desk after a long day returning with a vengeance."

Her words gave Tony some peace of mind, glad that she was forgiving him, if she hadn't already. "I'll keep the threat in mind."

Pepper gave a squeeze to his should and lent back, picking back up her work. "You'd better,' she warned, 'or you'll be kissing those days of getting out of meetings early good-bye."

Tony chuckled which quickly turned into coughing, reminding him that he was, in fact, still sick.

Ugh.

"Hey Pepper?"

"Believe it or not Tony I do need to get this paperwork finished."

"Would you make me some chicken noodle soup?"

Blue-gray eyes flashed to her delicate gold watch. "No."

"What do you mean 'no'? After our little heart-to-heart you're going to deny me food? Me? The man who is gravely ill and bedridden?" Tony lay listlessly on his couch, unleashing the best woe-is-me face he could muster. "I could be dying, Pepper, and is saying no to a perfectly reasonable request for chicken noodle soup from a dying man something you want to have on your conscience for the rest of your life?"

Pepper just laughed. "And I thought you were being dramatic before. I have to be on my way to Stark Industries in ten minutes to settle a complaint that you should be managing, so excuse me, but I think I can live with not getting you soup."

"Oh, so not only am I not being feed, but you're leaving me alone with only my used tissues for companionship?"

"Don't worry; you'll have someone else to moan to in a few minutes."

Tony arched an eyebrow in disbelief and curiosity. "Did Coulson lose a bet?"

"Nope." Pepper chirped, organizing her papers into color-labeled folders.

"Did you promise Rhodey free upgrades on the War Machine armor?"

"No."

"Does Clint owe you money?"

"No."

"Someone trick Thor into thinking this is some weird Earth custom?"

Pepper took another glance at her watch and placed the folders into a briefcase. "Thor isn't a gullible as you think he is, and no."

"Uh-huh,' he scoffed, 'you didn't offer Natalie blackmail on me, did you?"

"More tempting as it was, I can think of a lot better things for my extortion than getting someone to babysit you."

Well that was terrifying. "Steve isn't patriotic enough to do something just by putting "For the good of your country" in front of it. I'd know, I've tried. Did you hide his shield and hold it for ransom?"

"Now you're getting ridiculous, Tony."

"I've got it!" Tony pointed a finger in the air, gesturing a sudden epiphany. "You threatened to show Hulk those purple stretchy pants because as much as Bruce hates them, the green-guy loves them."

The doorbell rang, interrupting Pepper's next creative way to tell Tony he was wrong, prompting his assistant to go answer. To lethargic to follow her, Tony listened to those black Pradas strut across the floor all the way to the front door of his home. He couldn't hear the door being opened, but it was hard to miss Pepper's exclamation.

"Oh thank you God, you're here."

And the voice that replied was a welcome one, "Only one of mischief, my dear."


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Again, I am very sorry for the late chapter. The last third proved very difficult to write, writting myself into circles until I found my flow again. But thank you all for the excellent reviews and alerts, and please continue to leave feedback. It lets me know what you think and helps me improve.**

Two people were walking back and a moment later, Lawrence's voice was much closer. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful. Pepper won't even make me soup."

Pepper scoffed, standing next to Lawrence in front of the couch, briefcase in her left hand. "Don't let him fool you,' she addressed Lawrence, 'he's been harassing me all morning."

Tony stuck out his tongue at Pepper, who in turn rolled her eyes at his childish behavior.

"Here I am miserable and you're being mean." Tony sniffed and glanced to Lawrence, batting his eyelashes, "Though a kiss might lift my spirits."

Lawrence shook his head in sympathy. "I would Tony, if I weren't afraid of contracting Scarlet Fever in the process."

A very unlady-like snort was being covered up by Pepper and Tony placed a hand over his heart, feigning pain. "You wound me. Need I remind you two that I am sick, bedridden, possibly dy-"

"Oh please, spare me," exasperated Pepper, cutting him off.

Tony just crossed his arms and Lawrence sighed, but the effect was lost with the laughter shining in his eyes. "Alright, no need for such a face." He leaned down, breath ghosting over Tony's lips, only to then change direction and placed a kiss to his forehead.

"That's cheating," Tony murmured.

A smirk appeared on that pale face. "_That_ is incentive for you to get well," and he pulled away.

Tony had a small smirk of his own, accepting the challenge, and sat up, completely sure that his hair was sticking out at all kinds of odd angles. He stretched some, body still aching, and saw Pepper with a funny little grin he'd notice her having lately.

"O' wonderful and essential peace-maker of Stark Industries, didn't you have to hit the road five minutes ago?"

Pepper's eyes widened before checking her watching and cursed. Tony wasn't sure if she heard his, "I am appalled that my personal assistant uses such language!" before she once-overed her briefcase and ran towards the door, answering her phone that must have been her ride telling her that he was waiting.

A shout of "Thank you Lawrence!" and "Try not to be too big of a pain, Tony!", then a door opening and closing, and they were alone.

"So,' Tony started, pushing his blanket mound to the floor so Lawrence could sit, 'what did Pepper bribe you with to get you to spend time with me when I'm sick?"

Lawrence sat by Tony, the Iron Avenger watching him in all his refinement and kingliness, because Lawrence never just plopped down, oh no, every movement was polish and poise.

"Need I a reason?' he asked, 'Although Pepper was kind to warn me, I find it did not dissuade my decision to keep you company."

"You may regret that, just saying," Tony offered, eyes taking in the man he hadn't seen in three days, yet it strangely felt longer.

"Hmm, you're slipping, not a speck of green on you."

In response to Tony's observation, Lawrence raised a leg and pulled up his pant leg, revealing a bright green sock. Like, _neon_ green.

"Do they glow in the dark?" He'd only been half-serious.

"Yes."

Unable to help it, Tony started laughing. "There is no way you bought yourself glow-in-the-dark neon green socks!"

"You are correct,' Lawrence answered, laughing lightly along with him, catching the infectious mirth, 'Kelly purchased the pair for me for Christmas last year. I had not the heart to turn away her gift. Though I must say, after many nights walking around my dark flat with these socks on and the amusement it has brought me, I've become quite attached."

Tony quieted down to low chuckles before it turned into another coughing fit. He leaned back, comfortable and happy that Lawrence was here. It was a nice detour from his 'crappy' state of the past few days. Rest sounded easier to achieve now, until Tony peeked at Lawrence, who was merely sitting there, but with that look of . . . patience, like he was waiting. The same look from the day _after_ that day. That made Tony feel nervous and his living room airless, uneasy thoughts forming in his head.

What if he was ready to ask about the reason behind Tony's late-night drunken visit? He'd been excepting Lawrence to ask him about it at some point, but now that he was a couple of inches away from conceivably having said conversation, Tony really didn't want to deal with it.

It was still to recent, to raw. But he could feel it, the unspoken and unanswered question, the "what happened?" that hung between them. Tony didn't want to lie, but he also wanted to stay away from that day as far as he possibly could.

He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and even though it may not be realistic, Tony could go his whole life without bringing it up.

Suddenly feeling confined, Tony needed to get out of his house. Lying on his couch, cooped-up for three days couldn't be good for his creative brilliance. He had to leave, get a change of scenery, go for a drive- anything so long as he was out of this place and breathing some fresh air.

"You want to go out?" His question was sudden but voice unruffled.

Lawrence gave him a skeptical look.

"I'm here to watch over you and insist that you rest. Going out wouldn't be conducive to that now would it?"

"We wouldn't have to stay out, just drive around some." persuaded Tony, "Pretty please? I've been stuck in my living room for three days. I need to reestablish contact with the outside world."

Lawrence still didn't look convinced.

"We could go to your place, it's not far and I promise to keep irking to a minimum,' Tony held up three fingers, 'scouts honor."

"You were never a boy scout,' Lawrence deadpanned, 'but, I suppose your request isn't unreasonable. There will, however, be one stipulation."

Tony smiled. "Name it."

"I'm driving."

* * *

><p>It had <em>seemed<em> like a fair exchange at the time, but after going the speed limit the entire trip in his Audi R8 -something that should be punishable by _law_- Tony was fairly certain that Lawrence had done it to mess with him, 'cause the man looked like he would have no problem putting the pedal to the metal and using each and every one of the horses his baby has to its name, speeding ticket well worth the fun.

But no, it was a normal, safe, boring ride that reminded Tony driving in a car wasn't as enjoyable when you're in the passenger seat.

Lawrence totally did it just to annoy him. Whenever Tony would casually mention that it is perfectly legal to go at least fifty-five in a fifty zone, no one would pull him over, he'd get a toothy-smile with theatrically played virtue, "I'm only being a good citizen. Keeping to the speed limit should be abided by, no matter the car."

Tony wore a speechless face until they pulled into Lawrence's driveway. If he had a religion, then this would definitely be against it.

Sporting a smirk, Lawrence unlocked his door and let them in, staying back in the kitchen while Tony went to the living room, happier that he wasn't in a car with someone who would purposefully make _Steve_, mister "I'll go into your workshop and ball-up one of your fancy cars if you don't signal your turn -despite being on an open, _deserted_ road-", look like the perfect friend to take for a drive cross-country.

A sneeze that sent him stumbling back and his brain to the forefront of his skull had Tony letting go of the cruel and completely unjustified way Lawrence drove his Audi. Also somewhat dazed and ready to embrace the couch like an old friend.

Collapsing, Tony spied a remote and started flipping through channels. Between channels two and eighty-eight he came to the conclusion that the couch wasn't as comfy as he remembered. Then again, he had been drunk, so that probably had something to do with it.

Great, now he was thinking about . . . _that_ again. Why did he say to come back here?

"Do you want anything, Tony?" Lawrence's voice called from the room over, interrupting his worsening mood.

"Chicken noodle soup would be nice."

"Uh-huh,' he heard, 'I'll see what I can do."

He wished he had alcohol. Beating down unwelcome feelings was a hell of a lot easier with a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand.

Tony ended up getting a ham and cheese sandwich, Lawrence saying that while he'd never set any kitchen appliance on fire, his culinary skills didn't go beyond throwing something onto the oven and waiting for it to go 'ding'. Not that the Avenger had any problems with that. Most of the days being sick meant Tony couldn't taste anything anyways, but now that he was finally getting over this awful cold, if still suffering from a few of the symptoms, the simple flavors of ham and sharp cheddar between wheat was _divine_.

Seriously, he wasn't sure he'd ever felt this close to a sandwich before.

"Would you like me to leave the two of you alone for a while?" Lawrence asked, diverting his attention from the laughably horrible B-movie Tony picked.

Tony draped an arm around his shoulders and smiled. "I don't think so. You see, ham-and-cheese and I have a very open relationship." He got a non-committal noise in return and Lawrence relaxed against his side.

An hour and a half later, Lawrence stole the remote, condemning Tony's choices in movies and looking for a program that wouldn't kill off brain cells, all the while Tony snickered at his grousing.

The screen flashed. Click, cartoons. Click, Gilligan's Island. Click, MTV. Click, what looked like the sequel to the movie they just watched, Tony grinned at Lawrence's "No." before he'd even said anything.

Click, Law and Order. Click, infomercials. Click, news.

_". . . and we sure will be happy when summer is back in full swing. Now, let's recap the horrible attack in downtown last week by Dr. Doom and the heroic attempts at stopping him courtesy of the Avenger-"_

In less than a second, the inventor took the remote from Lawrence's hand with speed he didn't know he had and shut the T.V. off.

Lawrence briefly blinked at where the control had been. "Care to explain that?"

"Not really," Tony said, staring at the blank television, ignoring the slight tremors in his hands.

There was silence.

"Tony,' he felt Lawrence shift to face him, 'will you _please_ tell me what happened?"

Tony tries to smile, to crack a joke and whip up some charm that he knows Lawrence isn't going to fall for. It should be easy, like pulling on his iron mask and being someone else, someone better. But it's not, and the lie falls apart before he can even start it. "It's nothing. News is just boring- well, except when I'm headlining."

It was bottom of the barrel; too desperate, someone who already knew he'd been caught but was trying to get out of it anyway. Tony's reassurance was pathetically transparent and Lawrence saw right through it, and he wasn't going to let it go.

"No,' Lawrence said quietly, forcefully, 'no games, none of this. Please, Tony, I only ask because I am worried."

Tony knew that, at any other time, it would be touching that Lawrence was concerned, but not right now. It was like being shot by an arrow, something he had experience in being teammates with an easily provoke-able archer. Whenever someone brought this up, they were trying to twist the arrow out, and by reaction, Tony wanted nothing more than for it to be left in.

"It's _nothing_. Drop it."

"Cleary it is _something_ and it should be spoken of before-"

"_Before_ what?"

Lawrence's mouth tightened but gave nothing else away. "I just want to help you with whatever happened because it obviously isn't as inconsequential as you claim."

What started as being defensive was quickly turning offensive and Tony knew he was lashing out, being difficult and terse when Lawrence was putting an effort to stay understanding. But all he could think was, too bad, if Lawrence was going to try and drag this out into the open, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

"A little unfair, isn't it? You wanting me to be all show-and-tell when you aren't all that up to sharing yourself."

"That's different, Tony."

"Or hypocritical." Why? Why couldn't Lawrence just back off? Tony didn't need people worrying about him, he was _fine_. Would be even better if he could be left to deal with this by himself.

Lawrence stood, hands in fists at his sides, trying to keep his temper under a collected façade. "No, it's different. My problems haven't had me showing up drunk and soaking with rain at three in the morning at your home, have they?"

"I dunno,' Tony crossed his arms, resistance well intact, distancing himself with cynicism, 'it could happen. Why don't we talk about it, dig into a past that's more than just the last couple of years and vague references to a disappointing home life."

"Dammit, Tony!" He's angry now. Tony can hear it in the edge of his voice and see it in his ridged posture. "This is not about me! Something happened, something that has wounded you, and I'd like to think that I've earned your honesty!"

"You do, huh?" A small, nagging sensation tugged at the corner of his mind, warning him to stop and _think_ about what he was going to say. Maybe if his own anger hadn't escalated, panic at how close to breaching this abnormal, darkening pain fueling his confliction Lawrence was, Tony would have listened.

"Yes, I do."

His reply was boiling underneath the quiet of his words, but that didn't stop Tony, his little speck of conscious that had remained with him so far being efficiently snuffed out as he stood up to face Lawrence directly.

"Well,' he said coolly, never looking away from those heated green eyes, 'you keep thinking that."

All the air in the room seemed to have followed Tony's words. There, again, was silence.

Guilt crashed over him the second Lawrence's face gave way to a minor expression of shock just before he schooled his features into something impassive; a defense Tony hadn't seen since that night he'd kissed him out of the blue.

Tony wanted to take back what he said, to apologize, but his mouth wouldn't move. Funny how _now_ it decided to stop working.

The short window for asking forgiveness closed. Lawrence plastered on a painfully fake smile, though he next words were through gritted teeth, "You should get some rest Tony," and walked out of the room.

'Damn it,' Tony sat back down with a hard sigh, 'damn it, damn it, _damn it_.'

* * *

><p>Loki was lying on his bed, glaring at his dreadfully boring ceiling with an arm draped over his middle, trying to recall the last time he'd been so overwhelmingly angry.<p>

If there was one thing in this unbalanced universe Loki prided himself on, it was controlling his emotions. It came with centuries of practice, a necessary tool in the art of trickery and lies, to weave expression as deftly as a spinster does thread at his wheel. Loki's ability was well-honed, crafting the right look, the right voice, the right body language in any given situation like the performer he trained himself to be, any and all reactions were at his disposal.

And by being the master of his own emotions and reactions thereof, Loki had learned how to manipulate other's too. How little things as simple as words spun a certain way could be comforting or infuriating; whatever Loki wished to yield.

Perhaps no better example of this would be Thor. Oh, it had been a great amusement, influencing his once-brother. It was a game, tugging on his strings, just for a bit of fun. But bringing out his temper was not the challenge, for any half-brained idiot could anger Thor. No, the real test had been coaxing the blonde imbecile out of his rage, for Loki's play to show him reason and bring about the desired action.

The intent had not been one of maliciousness, simply Loki testing his skill. Seeing how far he could reach and to whom. Thor had been the easiest, being the "younger brother" occasionally came with advantages, but then it progressed to strangers, guards, and even that merry-band of sword-swingers Thor surrounded himself with.

With time and effort, Loki came to read people as easily as an open book, and even turn the pages as he wished. Harmless schemes, really, even though later on, he would be accused of his schemes being not-so-harmless. However, it all lead back to a singular truth; control over others must begin with control over one's self.

So why was it that years upon years of perfecting and practicing his art, that in his actions he was boasting flawless control, did Loki need to leave a room and collect himself so that he did not incinerate the maddening mortal man he chose to keep close?

The last time Loki's inner-self spilt over had been during his fight with Thor in the Bifrost. Those brief seconds when tears could be felt behind his eyes as Thor claimed his words and deeds to be madness. Only in such a vulnerable state could _Thor_, a man with as much tact as a brick wall, reduce the finely-crafted layers Loki wrapped tightly around himself to tatters and gain a peek at the frenetic whirl-wind that had been a stable marble pillar moved by none.

Simply put, Loki was not quick to emotion. Which was why he _hated_ that Tony Stark, someone who in comparison could best be described as above-average for a Midgardian, was able to throw a few insensitive words and tempt Loki to blast him through a wall.

There was no exaggeration. The fallen God felt the magic spark along his fingertips with each word Tony spoke, waiting to ignite. But he avoided delivering such harm, walking away to "cool off". It was infuriating, knowing that he could no longer brush off Tony's words like any others. That they held power, power over _him_, and Loki had allowed it.

Loki rolled onto his side, cautious that in his current state, he would set his ceiling on fire, staring at it so.

His thoughts were getting away from him, driven by his frustration. He cared about Tony, and he knew that meant that what he said would obviously mean more.

Maybe Loki was in the wrong. Confronting Tony on this thing that plagued him still, while unwell, may not have been overly smart.

Loki let go of a sigh, anger fading into doubt. He had little idea of what he was doing. Relationships did not seem to be plan-able in advance, and even if they were, held far too many pitfalls and uncertainties along the way. What if he continued to do things erroneously?

This was not the first time Loki questioned his ability to be in a relationship. His preference for solitude, his complicated and shadowed past, his lack of experience in connecting with others. The physical aspect was simple, having his share of partners, keeping the affair mutual and uncomplicated, never lasting longer than the initial desire. But emotionally, Loki only had Lady Frigga, the woman he had known as his mother and source of support, and Thor, ever the confidant when they were younger. Odin's love was a plight, and everyone else was kept at a distance.

These matters of the heart, so enticing and yet utterly devastating, Loki wondered if following this path was worth it in the end. Realistically, how long would they have? Asier, both Asgardians and Jotun alike, were not immortal. They are susceptible to old age and death, as all life. But when compared to the life of a human, it does look quite the reverse. He has lived for centuries, for years the Earth has long forgotten, and he would live for many more centuries to come.

Tony? Tony had maybe fifty more years until Death would stand at his bedside, lulling him to an endless sleep. Possibly sixty, if one was to be optimistic. Arch Reactor or no, the heart was not the only thing that kept you alive. Could Loki endure this bond between them, riddled with inevitable fights, anger, and hurt? Could he hold onto a brief moment of happiness when it would be gone along the faintest breath, the blink of an eye?

Yes. The answer was yes. Loki loathed admitting, to concede that there was no way back, but Tony Stark had charmed his way into his heart and was quite content to stay there.

Imagining his new life without the enjoyment of Tony was bland and uninspired, an area of grey that was absolutely mundane. Going day by day in his Midgardian guise like he used to, dealing with people mainly through business and occasional agreeable talk. It all seemed so lonely. Loki was accustomed to being alone, depending on only himself, though he didn't find the thought of returning to such a state an enjoyable one. Now that Loki knew what being with someone felt like, going back would only leave him in remembrance of what he could have.

This did not, however, mean that the trickster was any less irritated with the childish CEO.

Loki did his best not to pry. Early on he understood that Tony had his portion of secrets, things that even over time, Loki would not be privy to, and it was fair. Loki could not see himself ever revealing who he truly was, or had been, so why would he demand everything from Tony when he himself could offer nothing?

It did not seem difficult, and Loki could keep from wondering, because those hidden things, days without contact and a swiftly excuse afterwards, were harmless, no damage done.

Until recently.

When Loki had opened his front door to find Tony on the other side, the embodiment of futility, drenched in cold yet not feeling it, he had never been so scared of what was unsaid. Holding Tony, Loki knew that some confidences, no matter how painful, had to be shared in order to flourish, even if it were a few of his own.

He grumbled a bit into his pillow. Loki did not want these difficulties, a ridiculous wish when knowing it was a fact of interpersonal life.

Thoughts drifted around his head, general exasperation and enervation keeping them half-formed and cycling. Loki considered sleep, believing that a clear head would be better to handle this later, when the sound of his bedroom door opening could be heard and the soft steps of feet padding along carpet came near.

There was a dip in the bed close behind him and a warm hand gently touching the one over his side, cautious and entreating. Loki was battling between refreshed anger and stiff patience, patience winning out in the end.

Loki remained unmoving, staring at his wall, waiting with long, tense moments before Tony's low voice spoke aloud.

"The other day . . . I was out- driving around downtown to escape boring Stark Industries meetings stuff. Seemed like a good idea, but I landed myself right in the middle of Victor Doom's attack."

It was slow moving, words calm and careful but wavering just beneath their exterior. Loki remained silent, listening with all the proficiency he possessed.

The hand atop his drew along his fingers, rough skin moving over smooth flesh. "I got out of my car. Figured it'd be a good idea to find some cover. Everything was a mess. People were running around, Doombots were blowing chunks off buildings, I tried to find some place sturdy and wait it out."

Tony's voice quieted some and held Loki's hand tighter. "While I was running, I- I saw a kid kneeling down in front of a partially collapsed building. He didn't notice, but there had been a blast and slabs from the top of building were destroyed and falling. He would've been crushed . . . so, I grabbed him and made a break for the other side of the street."

There was a stillness as Tony paused. Loki wanted to encourage him to continue, but words didn't seem appropriate at the moment, so he carefully made soothing circles with the thumb of his hand clasped so strongly within Tony's, reassuring as best he could.

"We made it, and the kid was fine . . . but- I didn't notice-", a sudden restriction in his chest at Tony's weakening words moved Loki to face him. The man looked haggard with the weight of what he hadn't yet said, and awaited it to suffocate him. "I didn't notice that he was trying to get to his . . . to his little brother." Tony's expression was grim, haunted. "A little kid died, alone and afraid, because I didn't notice him."

And there it was, the wound Tony had hidden and suffered from, reopened and aching. Loki wasn't sure what to say. He knew Tony felt a higher sense of responsibility when it came to his actions. The immediate termination of the Stark Industries weapons program had been quite the indicator for the world, that Tony Stark would not let an action so under-handed go on when he had the power to prevent it.

Loki wondered how he could place such duty upon himself, and what actions he took in form of his obligation.

Though now, it would seem that Tony's self-accountability had taken its toll.

The green-eyed deity knew that Tony could not continue on like this without a hand to offer care.

"It was not your fault." No lies. No false words. Loki would speak the truth as it was, because Tony needed it.

Tony responded with a crooked smile. "That was a really obvious thing to say.' he said softly, 'I kept going over it in my head, replaying the scene again and again until I could close my eyes and see it just as clearly as when it was happening. A kid died, and I could have saved him."

"From what you have told me, Tony, I fail to see how." Loki steadied himself, preparing his words. Not in a long time had he wanted someone to believe what he said as much as right now. "You were in the middle of an attack. A lesser man would have run and kept running, but you stopped, stopped and saved a child when you saw him in danger."

Tony didn't look swayed, like he had prepared himself to be told all of this.

"Had you done nothing,' he continued, 'there would be two children dead. You cannot blame yourself for matters outside of you control."

Tony's expression shifted to one of anger, but not at Loki. "It should have _been_ in my control."

"And why is that?"

The man beside him faltered. "I took the responsibility. To save people. But when there's a little kid in trouble ten feet from me, I screw up. The single non-selfish thing I commit myself too, and I have to look at a mother when she realizes her youngest son is dead."

"Why?" Loki needed to understand, to help, "Why does this boy's death weigh so heavily on you? It is not your reason in life to save others'. You saved one child who was moments from death, but in doing so, were left unable to save another. Why can you not accept that this is not your fault?"

"I was there. _Right_. _There_. I should have been able to do _something_."

"But you couldn't." The words sounded harsh, perhaps even cruel, but Loki had to make Tony realize, before this guilt he held onto blackened him further. "You did what you were able to. You disregarded your safety for a child you did not know, in the midst of a supervillain attack, and saved him." Loki guided Tony's face with his free hand, forcing him to look into his eyes as he spoke. "Because of you, a mother need only mourn the loss of one son, not two."

He was quiet again, eyes searching Loki's for something. "If I have the power to help people,' His voice was whispered, heavy, 'doesn't that mean I have the responsibility too?"

Loki wasn't sure why Tony was so intent to place the death of an innocent child on his conscience, to believe that he should have been able to prevent the travesty. It was odd, and despite knowing what he did of Tony's past- more importantly the double-dealing of Stark weapons- Loki knew there was a piece to this puzzle being withheld, preventing him from seeing the entire picture.

Once again, he would have to re-examine it at a later date.

"Why is it,' Loki asked, 'that people assume power should be placed with a definable responsibility?"

He adjusted himself, moving off the arm that wasn't still in-hand with Tony's, prickly sensations running down his arm as the numbness subsided. "Just because one has power, does not mean he should do something with it. If I had the ability to sing children to sleep, should I have to go out, door-to-door, and offer my services to parents in need of a quiet night?"

Tony cracked a small smile and Loki kept going. "I have always believed that using power responsibly should be more about not using it _ir_responsibly."

"I'm not following you."

"Evil begets good. If there were no bad people doing bad things, then we wouldn't need people with the power to stop them using that power. So, where does that leave all these people? The rich men and women whose money made a difference. The officers of the law, brave and enduring, whose skills are no longer required. The 'superheroes' with their abnormal abilities left with nothing to use them for. All that is left for them is the uncertainty of the day and the proactive task of not abusing what they have, despite its purposelessness."

"The world seems to have forgotten, that the people who step out of their lives to help others', they don't do it because they have to, but because they choose to. Saying that a person 'has' to, implies that there is no choice, that it is expected. Amusing, when you think about it, in a world where people expect both too much and so little."

"Power should come with a responsibility, but such a responsibility is not as black and white as you think. The absence of action can be just as necessary as taking action. It is to each their own. You, Tony Stark, choose to take responsibility as an obligation, and when you do not meet your standards of such, blame yourself far heavier than is deserved."

Tony made to speak, likely to deny what he just said, but Loki held to his words, unwilling to lose a battle that Tony couldn't afford to win. "Listen to me, please. I do not know why you are doing this to yourself, but I ask you to let go of the guilt. You saved a life, a risk that was noble and dangerous, done without a second thought. Please, don't hurt yourself for who you were unable to protect."

Tony opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find what to say. "I just . . . it _feels_ like it was my fault,' he sighed, 'because maybe I could have done something different."

Loki understood. "I know you may not believe it today, or tomorrow, but as redundant as it is to say, what happened was not your fault."

They stayed quiet for a bit. The air being still and both turning to face Loki's still dreadfully boring ceiling, taking in their exchange, hands still intertwined.

"Do you want to know how my family and I came about our separation?" Tony said nothing and Loki did not wait for a reply. "My father is a man of importance, and the time had come for him to pass on his legacy to one of his sons, for whoever was chosen to head the mantle in our father's place. I knew it was never going to be me, and I was content with that, truly. I wanted to explore my own ambitions, and stepping out of my brother's shadow only to fall into my father's never held much appeal."

Loki closed his eyes against the old scars, stinging with a pain and anger never forgotten. "But no one could see that my brother was far from ready to take on such responsibility. If he had, the outcome would have been devastating, and not from a conscience malevolence, but an unchecked arrogance. I loved my brother, my family, and I refused to see any of them ruined over a ruling that hadn't been clearly thought out."

"So I did what I had to do." Oh, how _sure_ he had been, how carefully he had planned, believing that he could avert an oncoming disaster, only to substitute it for another one. "I planned a diversion, a spectacle that not only would interrupt our father naming his successor, but also show that my brother was not yet fit for what our father was passing onto him."

"It worked at first, but fell apart almost as quickly. As a result of my plan, two men, bodyguards of my father, died. I learned of my adoption, who my _real_ father was. The revelation broke me. I had always felt so different from my family, so separate, and then my fears turned true. My emotions were unstable, my mind clouded, and I acted out, firmly walking down the pathway that lead to my own downfall. It was only pure chance that I had an opportunity to start over, to live my own life."

"But those men, only doing their jobs, the way I found out I was not truly my father's son and only a brother in name, it all started with my dishonesty, a good intention that made everything worse . . . or perhaps better, with myself no longer in the picture. Regardless, it was entirely my fault."

It was done. Somehow, Loki was able rip away all lies and aversions, the pretty fabrications and intricacies that were woven into his speech, a trait he was sure was engraved upon his tongue, and only say what was, only what was left. He felt breathless, taking in thin air and releasing it. The hand that wasn't still connected to Tony had a firm grip on his sheets, out of sight as his face remained expressionless, waiting for what Tony would say to his reveal.

Instead of backlash, of Tony moving away, Loki's hand was held stronger, reaffirming a shared comfort, a confidence.

"I am the man that owned a billion-dollar company which profited from the manufacture and distribution of weapons, and I was cool with that." Tony said, looking aimlessly at the ceiling, "My Company made weapons that defended boarders, ended wars faster and saved numerous people. Never once did I have any doubts. And why? Because of a man named Obadiah Stane, the man that I had always seen as something of a substitute father for the better part of my life, was right there with me."

Loki knew of Stane, the man who was at the head of Stark Industries' deceitful relations. "I trusted him. So _much_. He always took care of the official stuff; the paperwork, the board meetings, the events. He had Stark Industries under his thumb while I was off partying in private jets with stripper flight attendants. I never thought about how unusual it was, how I'd play off Obadiah when he brought up business and how he'd let it go without a fight."

"He was taking my company out from under me, and because I was too full of myself, because I had Pepper to organize what I was required to do and gave free reign to Obadiah, never checking in, never noticing the little indicators that something was very, very wrong. Like how what was being produced and what was being shipped never lined-up. _'Oh, don't you worry; it's probably a computer error. I'll take care of it, Tony.' _How my board members were reporting to me less and less. '_There isn't anything going on, Tony-boy, but when something good pops-up, you know I'll be the first to call you.'_"

The sardonic smile Tony had as he spoke fell from his face, traces of guilt Loki knew that went back further than he could help lining his features. "If I had bothered to put in the tiniest amount of effort, then I would have seen what was going on. But because I didn't, weapons that were meant for allies went to enemies, and whole villages of people, caught up in a war over greed, lost their homes and lives because of my negligence. My fault. And I try to make up for it, every day."

Loki wanted to say that Tony couldn't take the lives of all those people on his shoulders, that he hadn't known. But Loki understood the eccentric genius with outstanding qualities, both good and bad, and knew that he would not hear ignorance for an excuse

"You shouldn't blame yourself for trusting a man who was nearly your father." Loki said quietly.

Tony's gaze held his. "But you do."

It was a rarity that Loki ever be rendered speechless, to be so surprised or shocked and left unable to retort. His eyes widened in the faint light of the room, the sun withdrawing its presence and diminishing along with the day.

He wasn't sure what Tony expected him to say or do in response, but Loki didn't think it was laugh.

His soft voice broke out, piercing the calm of the room with a rich laughter that boarded hysterical. Because it was true! So very true. The two of them with their cascade of problems that no mental health physician would ever step near, each harboring troubles that would be difficult shared between two people, much less by themselves. Yet here they were, gutting their protective walls and harsh defenses with sharp, deep slices to allow all the truths and ugliness and feelings to spill out.

It was true. And maybe, maybe they could work with all their buried secretes and aching pasts that were yet to be uncovered, all their pain and problems that pushed others away yet brought them closer. Because they were trying, and Loki had never been so sure of something that balanced so precariously on an edge.

After his laughter died down to muffled chuckles and Tony watching him with an eyebrow raised in what Loki hoped wasn't Tony thinking he had lost his mind, did he speak.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. It wasn't fair, and I should be more open with you." Tony bit off a short laugh, "I've got this thing where I'll dig myself into a bad mood and bite the head off of anyone within a twenty-foot radius."

"Mmmm,' Loki hummed, eyes sliding over to look at the man beside him, 'I think it's called being an ass." Tony's lip twitched upward. "Yeah. I've been known to have an occasional bad case of that."

"It's alright though,' Loki said, squeezing Tony's hand, 'it's relatable."

"You know what?' Tony asked, maneuvering himself closer, bringing his arms around Loki's waist as Loki did the same, resting his forehead against Loki's, 'I think we've got some issues."

Loki smirked, peaceful in the feeling of Tony's breath tracing his lips. "Oh yes. A couple of marionettes who have cut themselves of their strings, only to fall and lie broken and splintered."

"Well, if we're so broken, why don't we fix each other?"

A warm sensation spread through the inner-workings of Loki's heart, a feeling that was often there whenever Tony was involved. Anywhere from a low warmth to a white heat, its presence was a constant in his life now. What had once been mere glowing embers was now a fire; bright and encompassing. And this fire, powerful and beautiful, surging inside his chest, had burned the monster within him away. Loki knew its name, and he knew its gifts as well as its price, and maybe one day, he would say it aloud. But for now, the warmth made him feel safe, trusted, . . ._ complete_.

It was more than he would have ever hoped for.

" . . . I like that idea."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: First off, I apologize for the unreasonably long wait. Writter's block is a cruel mistress. Secondly, and because this had been brought up multiple times (and for good reason) you will notice that in my story I have been calling Natasha, Natalie. The reason for this is because I started writting (and posting) this story some chapters ago, and at the time, I didn't know if the writters were going to call her Natasha, or keep to mostly just call her Natalie (movie writters have done far stranger). So to keep within my own story continuity, I have kept with calling her Natalie. I'm sorry if that irks anyone. But once I become a bit more confident, I will go back and edit.**

**Thirdly, I want to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews and patience. Every comment pushed me to write just a little bit more until I broke through the writting blockage. Please, continue your feedback as it helps to improve and conquer.**

It was a beautiful day. Seriously, it felt like a morning copyrighted by Disney and Tony couldn't help but notice. The sun was shining . . . not that he'd been outside today to confirm that, just now walking up the steps from his lab after an all-nighter to the kitchen. Birds were singing . . . well, maybe. It was kind of hard to hear over Bon Scott and Angus Young while taking apart a Nissan synchronous motor engine. _But_, there was no crime going around today that the police couldn't handle and, most importantly, he could breathe through his nose again.

He felt awesome.

Tony made it to the kitchen- and he may or may not have skipped the last few steps there, it would depend on who saw and who asked. But the moment he walked in, all the sunshine dimed and the happy little birds stopped chirping, because Natalie was sitting at the table. Alone. Waiting for him like some James Bond villain, all that was missing was the high back office chair and white Persian cat.

"Uh, good morning?"

"It's past eleven." Right.

"Good after-morning then," Tony kept close to the counters while going to the coffee machine, trying not to notice the way long-lashed brown eyes that could locate twenty weak spots on his person in under five seconds were following his every move.

After a full minute of eyes borrowing into the back of his skull and Tony doing his best to play it off and ignore it, waiting for his coffee seemed a far longer and more complicated task than it had past mornings.

"Okay, what?" Tony turned around, leaning against the stainless-steel counter, "Did I use your shampoo again? I keep telling you guys not to just leave stuff randomly in the bathrooms-"

"We need to talk." There wasn't room in her tone for argument. Or escape.

"You know, we need to go over this whole being polite thing. Something small, like, 'Could we please talk?' or 'Tony, do you have a minute?'. A little step in the right direction will really alter a persons stony-faced, detached, dare I say robot-esque opinion of you."

It was _painful_ to be the receiving end of the glare she was giving.

"Okay, okay.' he threw his hands up and went to the table, 'Stopping now."

Nat's hands were folded together on top of the table and her posture wasn't unlike what Tony was used to seeing when going to business meetings. He wasn't sure if he should be nervous or sarcastic. It would probably help if he knew what Natalie wanted to talk about and why it was already made out to be severe before anything had been said.

Another awkward moment of staring and silence. It was nerve grating. Tony could only take so much.

"Are we going to talk or-?"

"It's about Lawrence Rampet."

Oh.

"Why do we need to discuss my boyfriend?"

Natalie looked like she was prepping herself for a stern talk with a dismissive man. "Because what you have with Rampet isn't some casual fling like you normally have, and it's time you look at the significances of this relationship."

Huh.

"It's a risk for people when they get close to us, Tony. That's why we have secret identities, to protect the ones we care about. But even with all our secrets and security, innocent people still get hurt for mere affiliation. And sometimes, it is required to take ourselves out of the situation and look in on it- to separate ourselves from the equation and acknowledge that what we are doing with these relationships may be seriously harmful. Keeping an entire other life from someone, especially the kind we lead- combating dangers and taking threats from men and woman with the power to level a city- is dangerous . . . for the both of you."

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_." Tony stood, palms flat on the table between them. "Are you telling me to . . ." Did he just wind-up in an alternate universe of cliché all for the sake of a pot of coffee? ". . . _break-up_ with Lawrence?" Normally, Tony would have snickered at how high-schooler that sounded, but he wasn't exactly feeling Disney princesses any more. "I know I'm not the former Russian spy here, but I'm not an idiot. I know _all_ of this. I don't need it recited to me."

"And you,' he pointed a finger, 'where did you find the go-ahead to dictate my relationships? I get that I'm not the Avengers' poster-boy, but give me a little credit when it comes to the consideration of the man who deals with me and all my baggage."

A raised eyebrow above an otherwise impassive face was the only evidence that Natalie had sat through Tony's tirade. "Are you finished?"

Tony sat back down, mulling over if he could get away with saying she wasn't his mother. "I don't know. Am I?"

Probably holding back the temptation to punch him, Natalie sighed and Tony prepared for the onslaught of regulations and morals and duties over selfishness or whatever was going to be thrown at him.

"I think you should tell him."

. . . what?

"Sorry,' Tony said, rubbing at his ear, 'I must be developing an inner-ear infection, because it sounds like you just said for me to tell Lawrence that I'm Iron Man."

"You're the genius, Stark."

"Give me a minute, the caffeine isn't kicking in. What's your angle here, exactly?"

"Like I said Tony, it's dangerous to keep a secret identity, and not just for you. I think you should tell Rampet you're Iron Man, because even though you're protecting him by keeping him from the truth, you're also putting him in jeopardy by leaving him in the dark." Something settled into the Black Widow's features. A crack in the emotionless veneer she rarely took off. "What if one of our enemies- Osborn, the Super Skrull, Doom, any single member of H.Y.D.R.A. or the Hellfire Club- found out that Iron Man is really Tony Stark? Who would they go after first; you or the people closest to you?"

Tony felt uneasiness settle in chest. Although he knew all this, the reality and risks of the situation and probable outcomes, it still brought a bitter taste when confronting it.

"Most of our bad guys aren't noble, Tony, you know that. They'd go for the weakest link that would cause the most damage." Her voice was cool, eyes keeping on the man in front of her. "Who knows you well enough to be considered a liability? Immediately, we can cross out anyone on the team, we're too strong. It would be a stupid move, going after any of us as an attack on you. Our enemies, the smart ones, would go after an easier target."

Nat paused, maybe to give Tony an opportunity to say something, but he had nothing to add, and she continued. "The easiest targets that really mean something to you are Pepper, Lt. Colonel James Rhodes, and Lawrence Rampet. Pepper knows who you are and is almost always in constant presence of S.H.I.E.L.D., nearly as safe as she could possibly be. Rhodes also knows who you are. He's a trained U.S. Air Force pilot and part-time hero with his own iron suit. He can defend himself against some of the worst."

Now it clicked. Tony knew where this was going. "And then we have Rampet, a private, if not successful, business man who has no idea that you play hero in your spare time. He doesn't know you're Iron Man, he doesn't know you work with a secret organization whose prime focus is the protection of the world, and he doesn't know you're part of a team of super-powered beings with equally powerful villains. And because of all these things he _doesn't know_, if an enemy was to hit you where it's personal, they would go after Rampet, and he wouldn't have a chance."

Natalie eyed him levelly. "If you want to keep this relationship between yourself and Rampet, then you need to tell him what he's gotten himself into, because keeping it from him could have severe consequences."

Deciding that the conversation was over, Natalie stood up and made to leave the room.

"Hold on, wait a sec." Tony stood with her, though he stayed by the table, "Why _aren't_ you telling me to drop my relationship with Lawrence?" Not that he would, but he hadn't expected, well, _this_ from the stone-faced, S.H.I.E.L.D.-trained, the-mission-comes-first Black Widow.

In a rare display, the kind where Tony considered getting his eyes checked, Natalie visibly softened. Her gaze lost the points of that serrated edge and her expression was a bit more open. "Don't misunderstand me, Tony,' she said pointedly, 'the best course of action would be to break-off your attachment with Rampet for his own safety and your own good, but . . ." her voice become lighter, empathetic, "that wouldn't be fair, not to you. I'm not nearly as cut-off from emotion as you might think. I've noticed how much better you've been the past few months."

Her lips curved into a small, surprising smile. "The change has been gradual, but obvious. You're happier, Stark. Whatever has been happening between you and him has been good for you- it's helped you, and I'm not going to be the person to tell you to throw all that progress away when there is another option."

Tony was quiet for a small time, looking at Natalie as she looked at him.

"So, wait- are we . . . are we having a _moment_?"

" . . . Forget what I said. If Lawrence Rampet can stand dating you, then I doubt that half of the Kree army showing up at his door could faze him." Tony's grin followed her on her way out.

That little pow-wow had been weird, even surreal, but it made Tony think as he poured a second cup of coffee, the steam rising to his face. Nat was right, in her own matter-of-fact way. He couldn't _not_ tell Lawrence. Not if he wanted them to continue to work. Not if he wanted to keep him safe. Still, it was easier said than done. He couldn't just bring it up over dinner one night, all "Yeah, my day was good. Had a video conference with a delegate in Shanghai, got caught-up with my tax returns and, by the way, I'm a superhero."

Tony didn't realize he was frowning at his coffee until Thor came bustling into the kitchen, likely on a search for pop-tarts.

"Tony, are you well?"

Thor's question brought him out of his reprieve; the god's blue eyes looked at him in concern.

"I'm good." He let an easy smile form. "Just thinking too hard."

Thor contemplated for a moment; golden brows furrowed in thought before nodding and accepting Tony's answer, departing with pastry box in hand. Tony was glad for it too, Thor wasn't quiet the fish out of water that he was made out to be, his insight more than once catching the team off guard.

The Iron Avenger let out a breath. Nat's words were buzzing around his head, picking at his focus. He needed someone to talk too, and while Thor had offered an opportunity, the guy wasn't exactly relatable. Tony needed someone to sympathize with, who would have an idea on how he should approach this new hurtle, who spoke the same language.

* * *

><p>"Hey Bruce, you busy?"<p>

Bruce looked up from his experiment, the test tube in his right hand held poised over a beaker. Tony stood in the door way of the lab, crossed-armed and leaning against the metal frame.

Tony looked his usual self, but Bruce could tell that something was off, if his air of "casually inquiring for a chance to have a talk" was anything to go by. He set the test tube in its designated rack and quickly scribbled down his notes before removing his safety goggles.

"Not anymore I'm not." He said with a smile, turning to Tony to show he was completely free.

"Awesome," the other man replied, shuffling where he stood, looking around the lab despite having seen it hundreds of times.

Bruce was inwardly amused. If there was one good thing that came from years of finding inner peace to keep a handle on the _other guy_, it was that he knew himself so well. Sure, he was still a little awkward, and sure, he wouldn't be teaching a personal effectiveness class any time soon, but Bruce prided himself on being direct, not afraid or uncomfortable when dealing with particular matters. Unlike Tony, who waited there, body language tense and awkward, all indicators that there was something on his mind he was only inclined to share with Bruce.

Of course, Bruce could be entirely off-key. But he didn't think so.

"Do you need to talk about something, Tony?"

There was a brief hesitation before Tony ultimately gave up his aloof approach. "Yeah."

They went down to Tony's lab that doubled as a garage, or vice-versa, very much like the one in his Malibu home and his second home in New York. Tony Stark simply couldn't sleep anywhere where there wasn't some space for him to tinker in. Bruce understood the feeling.

Tony grabbed himself a scotch, offering one to Bruce who declined, and they settled themselves on the slightly worn sofa Tony kept down there.

"Alright,' started Tony, 'so, a certain . . . "issue" has been brought to my attention, and . . . I need to know how you and Betty handle being together with your whole being the Hulk thing."

"Uh," that had certainly thrown Bruce for a loop, but like with most things concerning Tony, he'd learned to shake it off. "I'm afraid I'm going to need a little context here, Tony, if I'm going to be any help."

"You know the guy I'm seeing, Lawrence Rampet?" Bruce did. He'd never met the man, none of the team had aside from Pepper, but when the two of them were elbow deep in a new scientific discovery or bouncing around hypotheses, the name would occasionally find itself in the conversation, bringing with it a small story or account, and, for a brief moment, Tony would get a far off look in his eye and goofy smile. It took some effort, but Bruce kept from teasing, content to listen and see that his friend, the nigh-incorrigible Tony Stark, wasn't nearly as capricious as many claimed.

"I do."

He twisted his glass in his hands, "I'm thinking about telling him who I am, that I'm Iron Man."

Well, that was . . . unexpected.

"Alright," Bruce said carefully, treading delicately. This was a decision by Tony, albeit an unusual, if not necessarily surprising one and he didn't want to accidently sway his friend's confidence. Even if he was still fuzzy on where Tony got the idea that_ he_ of all people could help with this. "And talking to you about how Betty and I deal with my 'problem' will offer what?"

Tony set his drink down and ran both hands through his hair. "Advice? If Betty knows about your extra-curricular activities and doesn't freak out, I dunno, maybe Lawrence won't either."

Bruce had to laugh, because he and Tony's idea of Betty "not freaking out" were very different. Even though she'd met most of the team, an offshoot of sneaking, and sometimes blatantly not-sneaking under her father's watchful eye to spend time with him, none of them, not even Tony and his brazen nosiness, knew Betty like he did. Never, would he _ever_, willing sit in the backseat of a New York taxi with her again if he could help it. Bruce loved Betty, but under the right amount of stress, oh did that wonderful, amazing, exceptional woman have a _temper_.

"Sorry." Bruce apologized. Tony didn't look particularly offended, just bemused and a little helpless. Right, Bruce needed to get his thoughts in order if Tony was going to walk away with anything remotely useful.

"I want to give you some worthwhile guidance, Tony, but our situations are different. Betty, well . . . she found out that I was the Hulk when I did." _It was like an explosion. Glass and drywall and metal and smoke. He could see, through eyes that both were and were not his own, looking down at the unconscious forms of General Ross and Betty, scrapped and bruised and unmoving. Injured. And amidst all the confusion, destruction, the swelling _rage_- in the small, secluded corner of his mind yet to be swallowed by the beast, he knew it was his fault, he had _hurt her_. And in a startling moment of clarity, he ran._

_But_ . . . now wasn't the time to dwell on that. Betty had, in all her never-ending understanding, forgiven him. She had looked the monster in the eye and saw that Bruce was still there, something he himself doubted on occasion. If someone could be with a man who turned into a giant, green, rage-filled animal when angered, then Iron Man shouldn't have a problem.

So Bruce smiled, ready to convince a man who wasn't easily convinced. "I wouldn't have known where to start if I had to tell Betty." Wasn't even sure he would have. "That being said, you do have the distinct advantage of _not_ sharing half of yourself with a green behemoth."

That got a chuckle out of Tony. "Basically, you just have to admit that you're rich, smart, and care about people, and with these three combined, built yourself into a superhero. It's not the worst thing to own up too."

"When you're right, you're right." Tony said, "But it's the whole 'how do I get around to telling him and if I really should' that's the problem."

Bruce absently scratched his head, "You know, I hadn't given it much thought before, but I don't think any of us has ever had to tell another person about our hero-personas. Steve was a public symbol and Clint and Natalie are closest with S.H.I.E.L.D. With you, Pepper and James just sort of figured it out, didn't they?" He was now pulling at an imaginary goatee from his chin, and then decided to take a long shot. "I guess, well, have you tried asking Thor? He may have more in common with you than I do in this situation."

Good thing Tony had put down his scotch or Bruce would have been decorated in it. "_Ha_! Yeah, okay,' Tony choked incredulously, 'Thor, as much as I like the thunder-head, is not the guy to give me relationship advice. The other day I caught him watching National Geographic like the T.V. was trying to explain cold-fusion, and when I asked him what was so fascinating about the fully documented life of Timmy the Mountain Lion, he said, and I quote, "I am studying your realm's greatest predators so that I may hunt and slay the a fine beast and present the spoils to the fair Jane."

Bruce was somewhere between perturbed and amused.

"Exactly," Tony acknowledged, "I had to explain, again, why he'd probably do better with flowers or chocolates instead of a pelt. So no, I haven't tried asking Thor, God of seriously-needing-to-flip-through-Cosmo-magazine."

Bruce could only shake his head a bit and smile. "In his defense, I think Thor actually did have to tell Jane he was from an alien world."

Tony snorted in response. "From what Foster says, Thor _landed_ on Earth acting like king of the realm. Only reason he couldn't prove it was because he was a tad human at the time. Technically he wasn't hiding anything, thus didn't have to own up to anything, thus I'm not going to have any awkward conversations involving secret identities and their unveiling with him."

Well, Bruce hadn't put a lot of faith in that option anyway.

"Okay,' he tried again, 'let's start over. Like a hypothesis- one step at a time. Do you _want_ to tell Lawrence you're Iron Man?"

"Yes."

The complete upfront-ness and lack of his normal wit-filled evasion seemed to even surprise Tony himself. "I mean, well, yeah." He coughed into his hand.

Bruce couldn't help a small smirk. "Alright. And _why_ do you want to tell him?"

At this Tony grimaced, still not a big fan of personal disclosure. But Bruce could tell Tony was trying to get past that -briefly wondering if Lawrence has something to do with Tony's progress in opening up- and bit down the gut reaction.

"I want to tell him because- because I think he'd be safer, at least being included in our dysfunctional, squiggly-shaped loop. I want to stop lying. The general public can stew over as many identity theories as they like, but lately, keeping this from Lawrence- it just doesn't feel right. And . . ." Tony trailed off, clearly debating his next words. Bruce hoped he looked reassuring. "And?"

"And,' Tony sighed, 'if I told him, then that would be that. There wouldn't this giant filter I have to string whatever I want to say through so I don't slip-up with something incriminating. And maybe I could, Hell, I could finally just be honest, just be me; Tony Stark _and_ Iron Man. And everything would be fine."

There may have been more than what Tony was saying specifically, but Bruce didn't need the finite details. Normalcy for the abnormal, Tony wanted to have the standard little things in a relationship that weren't so simple to have whilst hiding one's superhero alter-ego. It was a respectable start.

"Alright, good. Next question: how does he feel about superheroes?" It was a legitimate point. Not everyone adored and praised the Avengers. Sometimes it got mean. Sometimes it got hostile. And the Hulk was often at the very center of the love-hate relationship people had with the team. The destruction he left in his wake displayed that there was a large difference in opinion of the ends justifying the means, and reflected badly on the others when he was defended.

A grin split Tony's face, like he was remembering a private joke. "Lawrence's opinion of superheroes is . . . different. I think he likes us for what we try to do, just not the golden alter some people put us on. So, he doesn't shove cute Avenger plushies down his garbage disposal, but he's not going to join any online fan clubs." Bruce nodded. That was good, then. No hero-worshiping, which could be just as terrifying as any super-villain. The scientist didn't think he'd get that viral clip of Captain America-styled underwear that Tony _just had_ to show them out of his conscious.

"He's actually really great with that kind of stuff,' Tony continued, 'In a general sense. It's crazy. Lawrence talks like he has a logical track of mind, but it's not so much fundamental logic as just the way he sees things." There it was, that smile again. "It feels genuine. No B.S. It's . . . he's . . . just amazing."

Then Bruce saw something, a certain something he recognized in himself. The smiling, the fondness, the confusion- Bruce understood, because he'd been there, was still there. Bruce could smack himself for not seeing it sooner, not really observing. What kind of scientist was he?

"Tony,' he started, clearing his throat, 'I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me, without thinking or pausing or stalling, with the first answer that comes to you."

"Hold on a second; let me turn up my hearing aid."

"Did I mention no sarcasm?"

Tony grinned.

"Okay." Bruce held to his words, knowing there wasn't an alternative way to ease into this question, "Remember, straight forward and honest. Tony, are you in-"

A shrill noise coming from Tony's phone pierced the air, and Bruce, not one for profanity, mentally cursed when the sound was quickly followed by a second coming from his own phone. There went the conversation. Tony checked the blaring device and Bruce could only hold back a groan and follow suit.

"Uh-oh, looks like Fury misses our company." Tony pocketed his phone and stood, polishing off the last of his scotch. "Think we can finish this on our way to certain lecture-dom?"

'Not particularly.' Bruce thought to himself. He didn't feel like being the catalyst for a possible emotional epiphany-turned-breakdown. "Sorry, there isn't enough hallway," his steps matched Tony's as they made for the meeting room.

Bruce didn't know, not for sure, but as they walked, he didn't think he needed Tony's answer. There was something, and at the end of the day, it was none of his business. All he could do was what his friend came to him for- offer some advice.

"I think you should tell him. No speeches or hidden messages. Just sit him down and say it."

Tony faltered, "Really?"

"Really," Bruce smiled reassuringly, going for certitude. The rest of the walk was in relative silence, but Tony no longer looked troubled. The genius-billionaire now had the outward look of someone coming on to something big, and all the more happy for it. And whatever it was must be contagious, because a small, merited smile rested on Bruce's face. He was positive, if having no evidence as to why, that everything would work out fine.

* * *

><p>Nick Fury, sans his occasional suit-wearing entourage, was at his usual place standing at the head of the table in the sparse meeting room of the Avengers mansion. Luckily, Tony supposed, Fury hadn't gathered his super-hero squad up for another rousing game of "Guess what Doom blew up today", but on the other edge of that sword, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have anything more on where Doom was or what his ultimate goal might be than his last outing nearly three weeks ago. Victor Von Doom was becoming a seriously painful, conceited thorn in his side and Tony couldn't wait to pull out that thorn and drop him into a S.H.I.E.L.D.-governed penitentiary . . .<p>

. . . a mile in the air above it.

Of course, given the attitudes of everyone else currently seated at this table regarding Doom, Tony would probably have to fight his way to the front of the line.

"I'm going to tell you what you already know," Fury crossed his arms, "There hasn't been hide nor hair of Doom. And besides the nuclear generators he stole, we're honestly grasping at straws as to what he's planning. It could be anything, so we have nothing."

He leveled them. "I'm not happy."

Clint snorted. "Join the club, sir."

"However, I refuse to wait for a peep when it could turn into a bite in the ass. So, I've decided to do take proactive initiative. We are developing defensive devices, either to surround the generators like a shield or to deactivate them. We have a team at Stark Labs designing prototypes as we speak."

"Uh, I don't remember authorizing that. Or being told that there are people are in my company-owned labs. Touching my stuff. At all."

Nick wasn't about to get into it with him. "You can file a formal complaint with Agent Hill later. As of now, the techs are formulating a durable and adaptable metal-mixture for combating against the radiation. Disarming a generator shouldn't be too much of an issue, providing Doom hasn't completely re-wired it. What will be a problem is the radiation effecting our devices, hence the mixture. But in order to bake a cake, we need the ingredients. Specifically lithium and lead."

Steve looked confused. "Shouldn't Tony have all that stuff?"

All eyes turned to him expectantly. "What? Its call Stark _Industries_ for a reason." Really, he should feel affronted, "I can do the lithium, but last week I traded off a lead order for zinc casted alloys. Can't S.H.I.E.L.D. just 'big brother' up what it needs?"

"I'd rather not stretch my hand too far for anything at the moment, Stark. Not when I don't know what pools Doom's tipped his toes in."

Tony revolved his thoughts around in his mind for a brief second before coming to a conclusion. A quick snap of his fingers had eyebrows raised intently.

"I think I know just the pool." Tony whipped out his phone and pulled up a number, settling the device against his ear as it rang.

"Uh, Tony, what are-"

"Shush,' Tony stopped Steve's interruption, 'I'm on the phone."

Steve just leaned back, sharing a quick _look_ with Natalie, but no one said anything else. Two more rings and the call was answered.

"Speak. You have three minutes."

"Well hello to you too."

"I'm serious, Tony. I'm meeting with a client who's flown all the way from Berlin. I apologize for my haste, but I can't afford a distraction five minutes before we're underway." In all fairness, Lawrence did sound busy, Tony was pretty sure he could hear him walking, Kelly probably trailing behind. He'd keep the teasing short.

"Aw, I distract you? You say the sweetest things."

"I'm giving you one more sentence before I hang up."

Tony made sure to keep most of the smile out of his voice, but between his favorite hobby of teasing Lawrence and the varying looks of "somebody please clue me in" on the team's faces, it wasn't the easiest of tasks. "Have I ever stressed how wonderfully patient you are?"

Lawrence hummed into the phone and Tony could see him visualizing the end call button. "Sorry, I am now getting to the point. I was hoping you could squeeze me in for a last minute order. I made a trade-off last week and going through another business will take to long."

The man on the other end sighed. "Maybe. What do you want and when do you want it by?" He could hear the rustling of Lawrence's phone switching hands.

"I need as pure a grade lead as you have,' Tony looked over to Fury for affirmation, 'and about, what, five kilograms?' Fury nodded once, 'Yes, definitely five kilograms. And you would be the best if it could be shipped to Stark Industries Lab division by tonight."

"By tonight.' Lawrence mirrored, sounding less enthusiastic.

"You can hand me the paperwork, I'll take it from you and everything."

There came a sigh. "Dare I ask what you need this for?"

Tony wanted to tell him. Talking with Bruce had helped put things in perspective; he was _going_ to tell him. But having that conversation over the phone, less than a couple of minutes before his big meeting was most certainly under the category of distractions Lawrence didn't need.

"I feel like privatizing the new generation of space race, maybe make Pluto a planet again. Anyway, I want to develop a long distance satellite, but keeping the mechanics from malfunctioning due to radiation is a must, so I need to mess around with elements of the toxic and combustible sort."

Lawrence snorted. "Since when have you been interested in space?"

"Since I looked into your eyes and saw the stars." He answered, grinning.

" . . . I refuse to grace that line with any direct response. Your time is up. I'll have your order put together and shipped, and then we'll sit down and go over the paperwork later today. You owe me."

"Sounds inferential."

"_Good-bye_, Tony." And the line went dead before he could lament on counting the moments.

Now immensely pleased with himself, Tony beamed at his fellow Avengers, throwing a quick problem-solved thumbs-up Nick's way. Everyone, aside from said eye-patch wearer, was staring. Though there was an odd warmth of acceptance in Nat's demeanor and Bruce was trying, and failing, to hide an amused smile inconspicuously behind his hand.

Although he could explain in-depth about what just happened, Tony wasn't Tony if he didn't have a _little_ fun.

* * *

><p>Upon reflecting his day, Loki wondered how his past-self would react to his present-self telling him that one day, living the life of a Midgardian, with all their simple problems and simple lives, could exhaust him like no grand battle against alien races in distant realms ever could.<p>

He supposed his past-self would laugh himself silly. The idea was ludicrous, after all.

Yet here he was, tired and grateful for his day to be done.

His day had started fine enough, no indicator or sign to set in motion how the future would play out. Of course, Loki never took a beginning for prediction of an end.

His meeting with one Niclas Eisenhardt of a very prestigious refinery in Berlin was his big moment of the day, the thing that had taken all the time, planning, and overall importance. It was to take place mid-afternoon at four o'clock sharp, where he and Mr. Eisenhardt would sit down and discuss a deal for some overseas shipping. It was going to be humble, straight-forward and well-reasoned.

However, it seemed no one told Mr. Eisenhardt of Loki's expectance.

In a pompous display of power, the man showed up nearly three hours before their agreed time, acting the offended victim when Kelly remarked upon his unanticipated earliness. So Loki had to rush through his business on the opposite side of his building while Eisenhardt and guest -a translator for a man Loki knew to speak perfectly fine English- were escorted to the meeting room as a poor, frantic Kelly met him at the elevator.

The only good thing Loki could take from his meeting with Niclas Eisenhardt was the look on his face when Loki, outwardly unruffled and in _flawless_ German, told the translator that he services wouldn't be required, and when all the cloak-and-dagger, round-about talking was finally danced through, they had made a deal.

It took more self-restraint than Loki would admit to pardon his new "friend" a simple, polite good-bye, instead of telling him how, exactly, to get back to Germany and what, exactly, he should do when he got there.

Then he had to put Tony's sudden order in effect. Laying out the specifics, contacting the departments to relay to the shippers, and writing up all the paperwork, essentially operating a process, as easy as it was, without the necessary steps. Technically and professionally, Tony should have been there, or at least filled out his request formally, business-to-business. Loki had made it clear that their personal relationship would not make allowances in their professional relationship.

And it hadn't. While Tony's abrupt call for metal-grade lead was laid-back at best, Loki decided to_ just_ skim this side of hypocritical and approve the delivery. If only because no one had to be shuffled around to fit when Tony needed his order by, so the paperwork aside, Loki wasn't really favoring Tony.

Though the last-minute, and sensibly deemed out-of-the-blue order could be chalked-up to the eccentrics of Tony Stark, Loki's mind couldn't help but drift back to it. Previously stated notwithstanding, there was nothing unusual about Tony's request, and his random bouts of ever-changing interests could very well steer him in the direction of the stars. Even if that thought left Loki to chuckle over the possibility of the human race officially reaching out to another with Tony as mediator.

Perhaps it was just the lack of structure. Loki liked having things done a certain way, and Tony _was_ the great diverter after all. Not to mention the sour taste left by his meeting that had failed to vanish as the day wore on. So unusually adrift were his thoughts that Loki realized he'd forgotten the paperwork on his desk with one foot out the lobby door. But not a few seconds after this realization did Kelly come marching from the elevator, neglected paperwork at her side.

Loki decided then and there that his dear, dear assistant deserved a vacation. Yes. A fully-paid vacation, with a beach backdrop and colorful drinks decorated with little umbrellas.

"Sir? We're here."

Loki looked up, relieved to have pulled up at Tony's home. Grabbing his things, Loki let himself out, stopping at the front door window, "Thank you, Jefferson. Feel free to have the rest of the day off." It drove Tony crazy how anybody could want to be driven instead of driving and Loki would tease him with short, unfulfilling answers, but in all honesty it was merely a way for the God to retreat into his mind for a time without wasting attention on not running someone over.

Jefferson nodded, pulling away, and Loki tried to think of the exact moment when he started looking forward to spending time with another person, finding true pleasure in company. It would seem that having influence over the Gods was not something only attributed to Tony Stark's ego after all.

Loki found that highly amusing.

He was let in by Jarvis, of whom, Loki was begrudge to confess, nearly caused him to blast a hole through the first floor of Tony's home when the artificial intellect first spoke to him. But gone were those days of calming the instinct to connect a voice to a face and now Loki found Jarvis to be quite the conversationalist, plus it was tickling when Tony bemoaned Loki and Jarvis teaming up against him. Which they did. Habitually.

Loki didn't see Tony on the way to the man's living room, but the desire to get off his feet and laze about was too strong and he collapsed on the couch, now understanding why Tony spent his days-long illness embraced by its comfort.

"Hi honey, you're home." Loki pulled a pillow over his face so Tony wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing him smile and made a muffled, affirmative noise. "Long day?" he ventured and was offered another confirmatory sound.

"You see, this is why I work on my schedule,' Loki felt a prod to his arm, 'because I'd end up like you."

Loki told him living was for work, resting for Valhalla.

"Sorry, what was that? I don't speak pillow-over-face." Then Loki mentally cursed at his slip. That had been careless. Sure, there was no possible way for Tony to connect a connotation of Valhalla to the past Loki kept as ambiguous as conceivable, but the further he kept the little details away, the better.

He brought the pillow away from his face. "I was saying to not act the wiser here. You were the one to call up on a business transaction like you were ordering pizza."

"Does that mean because my order wasn't delivered in thirty minutes or less I get it for free?"

"I don't think I've ever known a man to be impossible before you."

"I try."

Loki threw the pillow at him, satisfied when it hit him square in the face.

"Okay, okay,' Tony dropped the pillow neutrally to the ground, 'I call truce. Would pancakes be an acceptable peace offering? Nothing better than paperwork over fluffy, buttery goodness."

"Really, Tony. Pancakes?"

"I'll make them chocolate-chip pancakes,' he tempted, 'with chocolate straight from Belgium."

Sweet-tooth already intent, there took no time at all for Loki to give in. Pancakes, paperwork, and Tony. Why argue with a trifecta of perfection?

* * *

><p>Alright, here he was. He could do this. He could totally do this. Lawrence was just over there, sitting, flipping through the pages of Tony's order, double-checking that he'd signed everything, and here he was, pouring batter into a stick-free pan.<p>

'Just do it. Say you need to talk, say you have something to tell him, say you're Iron Man, say _something_.' But he couldn't. Tony hadn't been so tongue-tied since before he knew how to talk, but the words kept getting stuck somewhere over his Arch reactor and in his throat.

Now was as good a time as any. They were alone, both in good moods, had all the time in the world . . . Why was this so hard?

He flipped the pancake over. This was ridiculous. He was Tony Stark (not that that meant anything right now), he could do anything he wanted, _did_ anything he wanted. He _made_ himself into a superhero. Talking about it should be a piece of cake, a walk in the park, easy as pie.

Brown eyes looked over at Lawrence. Yup, still not easy.

Run before you can walk, he thought diligently, run before you can walk. "Hey, uh, can we talk about something?"

"Sure." Lawrence's attention was still on the paperwork, pen running across a section that required his signature.

"Something important?"

Lawrence's green eyes snapped up and caught Tony in what had to be a wonderful parody of the deer-in-headlights effect. Oh crap, he couldn't do this. It could ruin everything. He should have talked to Pepper, she was the voice of reason and she'd know what to do. Maybe he could call her, send a quick text, an S.O.S, a signal flare. No, he had to stop the mental train. Tony Stark _did not_ panic.

Lawrence was suddenly in front of him, hand gentle on his arm. "Tony, what is it?" his voice was inquisitive, and Tony's train didn't so much stop as it did derail. Panicking, defiantly panicking. "Uhh . . ." Abort. _Abort! _He searched for something, _anything_. And in what can only be described as desperation, Tony grabbed the ladle in the pancake batter and flung it in Lawrence's direction, covering him nicely.

The other man took a step back, looking down in disbelief at the cinnamon-scented pancake batter splattered over his chest followed by a heavy, chilling silence.

"Tony,' Lawrence asked calmly, 'did you just throw batter on my Canali shirt?"

"Yes, yes I did."

"I see. Am I correct in assuming you have a last will written out?"

"Yep,' he gestured vaguely, 'Jarvis keeps it automatically updated for me."

"Oh good, good,' Lawrence swiped at the mess coating his shirt and looked to the bowl set near the oven where the ladle had been resting, 'because I'm going to have to kill you now." And with a speed Tony marveled at, Lawrence scooped a handful of pancake batter and threw it at him, leaving most of it in his hair to slowly drip down his neck.

Tony took a second to wipe a stray glob out of his brow, flinging it to the floor. "You know, Lawrence, this means war." And he lunged for the bowl while Lawrence grabbed the plate of already made pancakes and dove behind the kitchen island.

Tony handled an unused skillet as a shield and blocked an incoming pancake. "Don't think you can win, Rampet, this is my kitchen."

Lawrence's voice came from his refugee. "Say whatever you like, Stark. I know where you keep your fruits!" Another pancake soared over him and Tony did a roll that Cap would have been jealous of, returning fire with his ladle.

"Ha! I'd like to see- wait, I have fruit?"

Their not-so-little food war went on for a good ten minutes, no surface of the kitchen going unscathed, until a certain voice halted them mid-attack.

"Do I even want to know?"

With far less shame than he should have, Tony took the colander off his head while Lawrence stood up from behind the cabinet door he'd been using as cover, neither even attempting to make himself more presentable as Pepper beheld on in morbid fascination upon her unexpected arrival. In all fairness, he couldn't blame her. The kitchen couldn't have looked any worse had a bomb gone off, utensils littered the floor, food and baking ingredients covered every inch of space without predisposition, Lawrence had managed to broadside him with a tomato and Tony had retaliated with a bag of flour.

"So,' Pepper said, already brushing off her astonishment as yet another thing she shouldn't be surprised by, 'I'll admit, a part of me really wants to know, but another part, the one that keeps me relatively sane, is advising against asking. So we'll just skip over the explaining bit and go straight on to what we're going to do about this." And she didn't even have to wave her hand, the "this" she was referring to more than obvious.

"Well, Lawrence and I could re-stock supplies and you could keep scor-' Pepper didn't even have to make faces anymore, it was like they had a psychic connection. Which was telling him to stop while he still had the ability too, '_or_ you could call the cleaning guys while Lawrence and I hop into a shower, after which I'll do some important and responsible business-like stuff to counter-act some apparent, less mature deeds that ought not be spoken of."

"Good answer, Tony. Good answer."

A couple of hours later saw Tony and Lawrence clean and relaxing in bed. Tony's kitchen had been returned to all its former glory and Pepper had left before he and Lawrence raised pillow forts and pulled out the Nerf guns, explaining that the reason she stopped by was to inform him that the shipment of lead arrived, since everything had to look business as usual and not like S.H.I.E.L.D. had gone in and taken over Stark labs with their Men In Black getups and Bluetooth.

Tony was laying with both arms behind his head, far more comfortable with the pancake batter no longer globed in his hair, and Lawrence was resting his head on his shoulder, fingers strumming along the outline of the Arch reactor.

"I think,' Lawrence said, lips ghosting his shirt, 'that I've lost all respect I once had in Pepper's eyes. I blame you."

Tony smirked, "I get that a lot."

"Hmm, no doubt,' he agreed, 'not to mention the well-written, ink-signed, physical copy of our deal now smells like cinnamon and nutmeg."

"Could be worse."

"True. I could have partaken in some nonsensical act involving the weaponry use of food stuffs- _oh_, wait."

Tony chuckled, moving an arm to lace his fingers with Lawrence's.

The green-eyed man sighed contently, "I don't know how, but you've managed to reduce me to a child."

"It's called having fun," Tony responded observably.

"Ugh,' Lawrence grumbled, 'it's demeaning." But Tony could feel the smile though his shirt.

"You know, Tony,' he said a moment later, words so soft they drifted with the serenity, 'you can tell me anything. With absolute certainty, I want you to know that."

The CEO secretly known as Iron Man knew that. He knew with the boundless conviction that stripped apart machines of death to create one of life, the conviction that pushed him to be more than what he was, the conviction that lay here with him now, that he could say everything to Lawrence. He could divulge all the gritty, unrated details of Afghanistan the press hadn't gotten a hold of. He could relive the fights with his dad, the quiet moments with his mom. He could whisper his innermost fears, his uncertainties, his resentments. He could be weak- could be strong. He could be himself; entirely, with all the secrets and intricacies and flaws.

Tony could tell Lawrence he was Iron Man, and somehow, someway, everything would be fine.

And he would, though Tony answered Lawrence wordlessly by bringing his other arm down and wrapping it around him, but not tonight, and mostly likely not tomorrow. But he _will_, and when he does, he won't have to start a food fight for a backup plan.

* * *

><p>Noise, the sounds of welding metals and weighted feet, the grunting of heavy lifting, of whirring mechanics, of screeching tools and the showering of sparks littering the ground. Man and machine were working together, building, creating, for a singular purpose, under a singular rule.<p>

Another pouring of sparks highlighted the cold, distinguishable mask- revealed the man whose face it had become. Incased in green and metal, power radiating in his hands like the thrum of thunder during a storm, Victor von Doom smiled, a cruel, satisfied thing were it to be seen. His men, driven by money and fear, his robots, driven by his will and absolute control, they were close, very close. So very close that soon, the light of day would make known his plan, in all its beauty, its ingenious, its _destruction_, and the world would be its audience.

The pieces were finishing. The time for waiting nearly done.

His smile grew wider.

Oh yes, it would happen very, _very_ soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: There is no excuse for how long this has taken, so I can only say that I am sorry. This is my longest chapter to date, and probably the most important, so I hope I have done it, and you, justice as I'm not so sure if it's enough, so let me know what you think. But I must thank every single one of you, for your reviews and alerts have been beyond appreciated and they help me through every sentence. And I must thank everyone who explained that I could use Natalie in way of Natasha, it made me smile when everyone was all "No, no, it's cool, and here's why."**

**For the last bit (long author's note is long) I will be giving myself a period of time in which to complete the next installment. One week, two tops, because I hate that you've all had to wait months. Plus, while some of you may be very happy that I've finally gotten this update out, that feeling may not hold out by the end of this chapter.**

**Enjoy, and as always, feedback is welcome.**

His phone was ringing, but Tony didn't care. He was warm, and comfy, and yeah, probably snuggling- nope, definitely snuggling. Which was why, all of the above considered, he wasn't answering it, because doing so would interrupt the warm and comfy and snuggly time he dedicated to his mornings. It was now one of, if not the, best part of his waking up and no impatient phone would speed him through it any faster. Besides, whoever would eventually take the hint, and the phone would stop ringing.

Ahh, there it was. Sweet relief. Now if he was careful, he could drift back off to sleep and steal a couple more hours . . .

No. No, it started ringing again. Damn.

"Tony,' came a voice muffled by his chest, 'answer your phone before you find yourself needing to procure another one."

"I don't wanna." A well placed jab to the ribs, however, changed his mind.

Tony groaned exaggeratedly and freed an arm, patting blindly around the side table for his phone. Of course, the second his fingers made contact, the ringing ceased and desisted.

He withdrew his arm back into the blankets. "I love when problems deal with themselves."

"Wouldn't have been a problem with the silent setting," Lawrence grumbled, words still scratchy from sleep and mixed with the barest hint of unconcealed agitation.

Tony smirked, even though Lawrence's eyes were closed and couldn't see it. "But if I left it on silent, how would I get so good at purposely ignoring people? Practice makes perfect you know, and I wouldn't want to lose my touch."

Lawrence shifted, raising his head and looking at him with sleep-bleary eyes and a high brow, "Are you always so stubborn?"

"Are you always so violent?" Tony countered, rubbing his side, "I think I'm already bruising."

"I'll do my best to feel guilty once I wake up more."

"You're a cold, cold man."

"Am I?" Lawrence yawned.

"Yes. I can especially tell by those ice-blocks attached to your ankles you call feet." He made a point to shiver.

Lawrence regarded him for a second then rolled himself over, coming to rest his arms on Tony's chest, glancing down at him impishly. Amazing how someone who hated mornings could wake up quick enough under the right circumstances. "Maybe I wouldn't have such cold feet if you didn't hog all blankets, hmm?" Tony pretended not to notice the gleam in those green eyes and the devilish smirk, but it was a battle he was quickly losing . . . not that he minded losing _this_ particular kind of battle. "I don't know, maybe I wouldn't steal the covers in the dead of night if your feet weren't so cold."

"Why, Mr. Stark, I do believe we've reached an impasse." His was like a cat, all gracefully, lazy movements and delighted smugness, and Tony was powerless against it. Battle officially lost.

Tony brought up a hand, fingers carding through unruly morning hair, leaving it to cup Lawrence's cheek while his thumb traced along his lips, feeling them pull into a smile as much as seeing it. Gently, he pulled him down for a kiss which was enthusiastically met, lips moving against each other warmly. He nipped at Lawrence's bottom lip playfully, which Tony figured must have been the right thing to do when the lazy-morning touchy-feely took a sudden and entirely welcome one-eighty and Lawrence attacked him with a vigor that Tony was only _too_ happy to match.

He would have laughed too, if he wasn't so busy with Lawrence's tongue down his throat.

Mentally adding _**incredibly hot make-out session **_to his growing list of Favorite Parts of Waking Up in the Morning, said make-out session was, of course, interrupted by his phone. Realizing that this particular problem wasn't going to get a clue Tony muttered a few under-utilized Chinese phrases. Lawrence huffed irritably then rolled over and grabbed the phone, shoving it into Tony's hands like the offending piece of tech that it was, a not so subtle suggestion to answer it.

The number came up as nothing and that only meant one thing.

Could only be one person.

"Hello, Coulson."

"Tony,' replied his favorite S.H.I.E.L.D. nanny, 'do I need an alternate means of contacting you? Since answering your phone doesn't seem to be on the top of your list."

"Didn't anyone tell you? Retro's back in. All the cool kids are whipping the old telegraphs back out. You should be thrilled." Tony could hear Coulson's patience thinning, which might have been worrying if it he wasn't enjoying himself so much.

"Your juvenile brand of wittiness aside, I did call you for a reason." Knowing that Coulson's Taser was always good and ready, Tony put up the effort to half-listen, but all that flew right out his second story window when a _very_ familiar tongue began outlining the shell of the ear he _didn't_ have against his phone.

Why, oh why, did Lawrence have to pick the ear? It was like using invincible-mode in a game. It was practically cheating.

Tony had no defense for that.

Feebly he pushed Lawrence away just as he was bringing out the teeth. Tony took the cell away from his ear long enough to mouth 'You are _evil_.' at the man who, being the green-eyed minx that he was, quietly chuckled and smirked fiendishly.

Maybe turning his back to Lawrence hadn't been the smartest idea when Tony returned to his half of the conversation, hearing Coulson say something about "responsibility" and "scheduled meetings" for about a second when Lawrence's mouth latched onto his completely unguarded neck, causing Tony to make a noise that he wasn't going to bother with defining.

There was a pause in Coulson's monologing, "Am I interrupting something, Stark?"

Tony gave up all pretense of trying to carry on a regular, if not mostly one-sided, conversation when Lawrence's hands started traveling south and he had to bat them away. He was tempted to say something like, "Can't get anything by you, huh, Captain Obvious?" but he liked to keep a fresh reserve of Captain Obvious jokes for Rodgers.

"In layman's terms? Yes, yes you are." Out of the corner of his eye, Tony could see Lawrence catching onto his victory. And looking entirely too pleased about it.

"You could at least do me the courtesy of telling me when I'm disturbing you in the middle of sex," only Coulson could say that and sound just mildly inconvenienced.

"In my defense, it hasn't gotten that far," _now_ Lawrence was sitting back like he had all the patience in the world. Evil, _evil_ man. "Yet."

Coulson sighed, "Fine. Assuming you haven't heard a word I've said, let me lay it out: there is a team meeting at the mansion, I want you here in half-an-hour."

Tony side-glanced to Lawrence, weighing the pro's and con's and altogether what he felt like doing. Not to mention Lawrence was very sexily tilting his head to one side, looking very 'come hither' and really, a half-hour just wasn't going to cut it.

"Yeah, how's about two hours?"

"How about a half-hour and I don't send Miss Potts after you."

"Pepper would totally be on my side in this." No way would Pepper risk walking in on them again, especially since she got lucky that they were only sleeping the first time. He still loved teasing her with that. "Tell you what, give me an hour and fifteen, and I'll be at every meeting for the next two months ten minutes early. I'll even bring coffee and doughnuts."

Coulson was mulling over his proposition on the other side of the phone. "I'll allow it." he said, only some agitation slipping through his voice. The man was like a statue. It was awe-inspiring. "But only because I have better things to do than argue with you over the phone. One hour and fifteen minutes, Stark. Seventy-five minutes, and if you are one second over that, I will come and get you. I don't care what you're in the middle of doing or who I have to drag you off of."

And the line went dead.

"Must the great and powerful Tony Stark answer his obligations and duties?" Lawrence purred, fingers tapping along the wrinkled bedspread.

Tony shrugged and flung his phone over his shoulder, the thud it made hitting the carpet letting him know there wouldn't be any serious damage. "In so many words." He grinned and let his eyes rake over Lawrence's body, suddenly feeling unfriendly towards the sheets for hiding much of the view. "But I've still got some time to play. You know,' he added casually, not coming off casual at all, 'If you're up for it."

Tony wasn't making that much of a stretch with the cat motif when Lawrence practically mauled him.

Sometime later- and Tony was trying really hard to keep track but even a prodigy of his magnitude got preoccupied, so maybe forty-five-ish minutes- he knew he had to get moving. He had to take a shower, get dressed and hit the road. Because Coulson didn't make threats, he made promises.

Still, there was no other place he wanted to be. Here, leaning against Lawrence, his long, pale fingers running through his hair, Tony was content. _Content_. For the longest time that word had been laughably foreign to him. It didn't matter what new break-through in technology he pioneered or which city he saved. It never felt like it was enough. Tony always had to keep going, had do more and better, his mind never stopping.

But here, here, Tony couldn't want any more- _didn't_ want any more.

He felt Lawrence's heartbeat, heard each breath.

It was crazy, and coming from a self-absorbed, egotistical genius- nearly impossible, but if Tony had to put everything into one word, all the time and feelings and impossibilities, it would be perfect. Which was ridiculous, considering he didn't believe 'perfect' should even be a word. That 'perfection' didn't exist.

It was an unobtainable goal to push people to their fullest. An ingenious idea to promote growth, but remained a point on the horizon that would forever be out of reach, used only as view to look towards and wonder how to get there.

A trick- idealistic as it was unrealistic.

Everything had a flaw, an issue in design. Everything could be improved on, could be made better. _Nothing_ was perfect.

Not with the world they lived in.

_But_ . . . what Tony felt, right here, the past months with the fighting, the laughing, the talking . . . if the word perfect did exist, then Tony would say this was the closest thing to it.

Didn't mean he didn't have to leave, though.

"Alright,' he said more to himself than Lawrence, 'I've got to get going."

"Shame," he heard in the midst of looking for his pants- because screw it, he'd shower at the mansion- and couldn't agree with Lawrence more, but the image of Coulson and a team of suits blasting through his bedroom wall stopped him from diving right back into bed.

"Yes, but inescapable duty calls," he mumbled from half-way under the bed, finding his shirt, but still no pants. He frowned at a random power drill coated with a thin layer of dust taking refuge in the far corner and raised both eyebrows at a pair of sweats he could have sworn he hadn't seen since he graduated college.

Unexpected discoveries aside, Tony didn't find what he was looking for. He pushed himself back up and turned to Lawrence. "Have you seen my . . ."

Holding them up by a pant leg, Lawrence smiled cheekily, "What would you do without me?" he questioned, throwing the jeans to Tony, laughing when Tony let them smack him in the face.

"Give all of New York a great view," he cheerfully replied, pulling on his pants and ready to hunt for his keys and wherever his cell phone ended up. He should really put some time into inventing a reliable keychain tracer when he'd done the equivalent for his armor.

"You are aware that this is _your_ house, yes? Why not put on fresh clothes?"

That was a very good point, one that he couldn't argue with but didn't let stop him, "I can change at the office. It's my reluctant home away from home."

Lawrence chuckled and Tony watched him as he pulled himself out of bed, eyes following the movement of the sheets and comforter falling to the floor and white skin unveiling. Stretching languidly he bent down and Tony felt a rush of desire at the sight and amusement when Lawrence found his own clothes no problem. Typical.

Seriously though, his keys must have become sentient overnight and developed a real grudge against him because Tony knew for a fact he left them on his dresser . . . or on the floor near his closet . . . or was it on the kitchen counter by the sink downstairs?

Right. Time for Plan B. "Jarvis, where are my keys?"

"Directly behind you, sir," Tony turned around to find Lawrence with his keys six inches from his nose, giving them a jingle for emphasis. He had a sneaking suspicion that Lawrence and Jarvis planned for moments like this. So much for personal and loyal A.I. The two probably called themselves the League of English Accents or something.

"Looking for these?" Lawrence asked innocently, but the delight in his eyes gave him away immediately. Not that Tony needed any hint that Lawrence was _far_ from innocent.

"What are you, a wizard?" He snatched them before they had an opportunity to escape and Lawrence's smile froze. It was for less than a second and quickly disregarded when Lawrence gave him a chaste kiss.

The moment slipped by his attention and Tony didn't question it.

"Only sometimes," he heard and felt whispered against his mouth.

His internal clock kindly reminding him to move his ass, Tony smiled and stepped away, pulling on his shoes before he was forced to leave without them to save time. "Want to grab lunch later?" he asked, chasing the rabbit through the hole while Lawrence was perfectly happy to walk around bare-foot and make the bed into some sort of order.

No wonder Pepper liked him so much.

"That depends,' the other man said, digging out a clean shirt from the drawer of clothes he kept for when he stayed over. 'Will we be eating at an actual restaurant?"

Tony pulled his laces tight. "Burger King is an actual restaurant." A choking noise could be heard and he looked up to see Lawrence particularly scandalized.

"Surely you jest,' he remarked, aghast. 'Surely you do not sit here, giving merit to that place."

"What? They have tables . . ."

"With gum older than myself on the underside."

"They have menus . . ."

"On animated screens."

"There's staff . . ."

"Stationed behind a _counter_."

Tony stood, pointing a finger accusingly. "That's a well-loved American status quo you're patronizing."

"Well-loved Ameri . . .' Lawrence buried his face in his hands, defeat imminent. 'The last time we were there, you wore that ridiculous cardboard crown they hand out."

"Well, yeah. You get one with every kid's meal." Hands dragging down his face, Lawrence uncovered his eyes, giving Tony a look as if to say that was the entire point.

Having way too much fun at Lawrence's expense, Tony regarded him like he was the crazy one, staring like maybe he was dropped on the head to many times as a kid, melodramatically conveying that he had no idea what the problem was.

"What? I wanted the toy."

At that, Lawrence threw his hands in the air and strode past him. Tony snickered giddily on the inside, doing his best to keep a straight face. "What're you doing?" Tony called good-naturedly and followed him out of the room.

"Contemplating my life if I were to be involved with someone safer to my sanity," Lawrence replied over his shoulder briskly, but a distinct chill absent from his voice. Tony smiled and moved a bit faster to catch up. Wrapping his arms around his waist, Tony placed a small kiss to Lawrence's neck, "Sounds boring."

"Undoubtedly," was said in dead-pan but with a fond expression.

Tony let Lawrence go and grabbed a half-eaten bagel that looked safe enough. It was only a little stale and crusty around the edges. Lawrence eyed him warily before shaking his head as the bagel crunched like no bagel should, definitely appalled by his eating habits and started preparing something more refined and less likely to be a health hazard.

Tea, probably.

"So,' Tony wiped the remaining crumbs off his mouth and pressed the remote starter hanging on his key ring, hearing the engine of his Audi purr to life even from the inside, 'lunch later?"

"I suppose,' Lawrence sighed theatrically from a cabinet, picking whatever tea tickled his fancy from the stash he'd managed to get past Tony. Trying to get rid of the stuff never worked since the stockpile had a tendency to relocate every few days and ultimately he gave up playing hide and seek with the English staple.

"Though,' Lawrence continued, pouring steaming water into a cup, "I do have to go over some figures with accounting later this morning. How does half-past one sound?"

Puppy eyes weren't really his strong point, but Tony would give it a shot from time to time. He stuck out his lower lip and widened his eyes. "And?" he asked hopefully, now being one of those times, trying for the most pitiful pout he could get away with and putting his hands together like a prayer.

Lawrence rolled his eyes, not at all affected by how thick he was laying it on. "And it can be at your wretched Burger King if it must."

"You are a magnificent human being," he said, trying to go in for another kiss. Lawrence made a noncommittal hum and put his hand up to stop him, but Tony, not at all discouraged, just held it and pressed his lips against ivory knuckles.

Who said he couldn't be a gentleman?

Lawrence withdrew his hand, feigning revulsion. "And you are an unbearable individual. Go to work and relieve me of your presence until I must endure it later."

Tony gave a faux-humble bow in response, then turned and opened his front door. He stepped outside, and for a moment, his hand rested on the door knob, the metal gradually warming under his palm. He looked back at Lawrence, the man moving dishes and baking goods around, trying to find where Tony hid the sugar this week.

And Tony could see when Lawrence found it, too. Third cabinet, top shelf and behind a year-old box of Frosted Flakes, green eyes lit-up in victory as the sugar bowl was rescued. Lawrence hadn't noticed Tony's staring yet and smiled to himself, taping the porcelain lid of the bowl with an expression so subtle and right and perfect and _home_ that it had Tony's heart leap into his throat, demanding him to say the words that had been itching the tip of his tongue and fluttering at the bottom of his stomach.

But when Lawrence's gaze met his and the "What?" fell from soft lips, he couldn't bring himself to say it. Cowardly, maybe, but Tony could readily admit that those words scared him more than saying "I am Iron Man," ever would.

Like with everything else, however, Tony would have to make time for an internal assessment of his personal choices later or else Colson would force him to do P.R. or take pictures with babies and go to Avenger's charity events.

He didn't like going to his _own_ charity events.

He smiled easy, leaning lightly on the door. "Just happy you found the sugar."

"Well,' Lawrence said proudly with a laughable show of dusting off a shoulder, 'you aren't nearly as good at hiding things as you think you are."

"Maybe,' he thought out loud, the harmless riposte hitting a little too close to home before letting it run off of him like water. He took a quick peek at his phone for the time and already felt the heat of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s laser scopes on his back.

Planning out the quickest routes he could take and the speed limits he'd have to break, Tony threw caution to the wind, as he was to do, and stepped fully back inside. "I," he kissed Lawrence, simple and satisfying, like nothing else mattered and would never get old, "will see you later."

"Continue this way and I may not let you leave," Lawrence said, but having far better self-control and order of priorities, placed both hands on his chest and pushed him to the door. "Now go so I may finish my morning in peace and you may actually indulge yourself in productive work."

Tony grinned as he walked backwards, out the door once again. "You'll miss me."

"As I would a particularly obnoxious pest."

"Ah, yes, but I am _your_ particularly obnoxious pest," he reasoned.

"Spare me,' Lawrence began, his very syllables dripping with sarcasm, 'for I am not worthy."

"It's actually quite the reverse," Tony said, leaving Lawrence with that thought. He jogged to his Audi and looked back a final time to wave and was met with an aggressively affectionate shooing motion, Lawrence probably preparing to convince Jarvis to lock Tony out of his own home if he didn't leave.

With that last gesture of encouragement, Tony hopped into his car and drove away, wondering which type of doughnut was most likely to get him back on Coulson's good side.

* * *

><p>Coulson couldn't look more like he expected Tony to saunter in with a box of Dunkin Doughnuts' finest if he tried.<p>

"You're late," he greeted, eyebrow raised in an unimpressed manner.

"Fashionably," Tony said, opening the box to give Coulson first pick.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent didn't even glance over the selection. He just grabbed a Boston Crème while staring at Tony unwaveringly and with no minor bit of judgment.

"And the coffee?"

"You should be happy I got the doughnuts with the line I had to sit in."

Coulson made a hurried breath, like holding back a scoff. "Sure. A line."

Tony just smiled and moved the box closer in invitation, which of course Coulson didn't accept. "The meeting hasn't started yet. I suggest you get there before Director Fury," he said, walking to the meeting room like Tony had to be shown the way.

Or more like to make sure Tony made it, which the Iron Avenger couldn't exactly fault him on.

The room was stark and sterile as always and the mood wasn't much better, considering their total lack of progress concerning a _particular_ bad guy who was tipping dangerously close to the revenge side of the avenger in Tony.

He placed the box in the center of where his group was seated. Steve, looking like he'd just been through the gym with workout clothes on and boxing gloves slung over one shoulder, made an appreciative noise and grabbed three doughnuts indiscriminately. Natalie just gave a quick nod to Tony but ignored his gift of deliciousness while on the other hand, Clint took the sugariest one of the lot. Bruce smiled in thanks, picking the single plain doughnut and when everyone was satisfied with their choices, Thor claimed the rest of the box.

Coulson's good graces may not be so easy to get into, but Tony could always trust in breakfast pastries when with his fellow superheroes.

Everyone was just wiping the sprinkles off their faces when Fury came in. Nothing hurried or urgent in his steps and Tony tried not being disappointed, because that meant this meeting was nothing more than Fury telling them even _more_ of what they've been told hundreds of times and Tony was getting really sick and tired of going over the same lack of information.

Dogs chasing their own tails were making more headway than they were.

"I wish I could tell you something good,' Fury started, sounding as frustrated with himself as he was with everything else. 'But the furthest we've moved on Doom has been the successful tests of the of the shield-device prototypes."

Tony rolled his eyes and leaned back. He'd known _that_ two weeks ago.

Fury ran a hand over his head, a minor sign of agitation and powerlessness. "There've been some whispers, people who have heard other people taking about Doom, but nothing's panned out. Dead ends,' he sighed harshly. 'All of them."

Tony bit the inside of his cheek and held back the urge to throw something. This wasn't getting them anywhere, but saying that would imply he had a better idea- which he didn't, and that little factoid pissed him off more than anything else.

He couldn't be mad at anyone; he didn't have the right to be. They were all trying their hardest. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were on twenty-four seven. Coulson, even if Tony wouldn't mention it, looked like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks. Each and every one of them was antsy. They could only do so much before there was nothing left _to do _but sit and wait, and they had reached that point weeks ago.

It was nerve-grating and they'd probably have better luck calling "Marco" and listening for Doom to call back "Polo".

As impressive as it was that Nick had the ability to say the same things in a new and stimulating way each time they held this meeting, Tony was past pretending to pay attention to a list of points he could recite in his sleep and was currently engaged in digging frosting out from under his fingernail when Hill burst into the room.

She looked like she ran the whole way there from wherever she'd been, stands of hair escaping her normally kept bun and red flushing her cheeks. Everyone, Fury included, went straighter, backs snapping like rubber bands.

"Sir,' she said like she was out of breath, but Tony could hear discreet alarm under her cool exterior. 'It's Doom, he's just resurfaced." Hill handed Fury a tablet and the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. scanned through the information as it lit up the screen, eye going colder and mouth tightening with each passing second.

Fury's gaze hit them all with an intensity Tony could literally feel. It sent sparks along his nerves and lined his stomach with lead, but it brought along an urgency like a fire being lit under him, so when the man's stone voice broke the palpable tension filling the room, no Avenger needed to be told twice.

"Suit up. Now."

* * *

><p>This was bad. Tony wasn't the type of person to say something was bad unless it was really, really bad.<p>

And this was really, really bad.

The area, for what it was worth, had been evacuated as effectively as possible under the circumstances. Those circumstances being hundreds of Doombots with what looked like the intent to level half the city working hard to leave nothing but hollowed out buildings and overturned streets as the police and S.H.I.E.L.D. alike did their best to hold a perimeter.

And that was just the first few blocks of downtown.

Pockets of Doombots had been unleashed throughout the entire city, mass destruction clearly their goal and the minute Tony realized that the six of them would have to break off into pairs, maybe even go it alone, the knowledge that this was done intentionally steeled his mind, no doubt that the rest of the team have caught onto this as well.

He's blasting Bots into bits next to Bruce- well, the Hulk. Jolly Green seems to like him the best, so it's an unsaid understanding that the Big Guy is under Tony's supervision when he can spare it. But keeping one eye on the Hulk and the other out for Doom splits Tony's attention a little too wide for his liking, especially when Doom's Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots manage to put a few dings in his armor and dents in his pride.

They're coming on in waves, and in the midst of all the bruises he'll be able to add to his collection, Tony can't help but think that this is the majority, if not the entirety, of Doom's forces. That thought buries deep as he dodges a laser blast, letting it hit and destroy the Bot behind him and retuning fire. If Doom is giving it his all, then where the hell is he, and most importantly, what the hell is he doing? Because Tony doesn't want to see what Doom has up his sleeve if it requires him to send out an armada.

"This sucks," he grits out to no one, holding onto the metal leg of a Doombot and sending it careening into a small group, the crunches and sparks that follow making him feel just a little bit better.

"You don't say," Clint's voice speaks up to his understatement. Even a couple of miles away and most definitely under heavy fire, Clint's dry sarcasm doesn't fail to make Tony smirk.

"Anyone see Doom?" Steve's question rings loud in his ear. No, Tony hadn't seen the swisher of capes himself, but when he did, he'd be sure to yell "Bingo!" right before giving him a mask-full of propulsion beam.

"Negative, Cap," Nat replies for both herself and Thor, since the Thunder-God's lightening has a tendency to mess with the comm's signal. The first time they tried it, Tony wound up listening to Pandora when moving pedestrians to safety while Thor held up the Brooklyn Bridge.

A roar from the Hulk and Tony is ducking out of the way of a car that imbeds four-and-a-half Doombots into the closest building, mangled, steel limbs twitching under the wreckage.

Tony whipped around, seeing the Hulk angrier than when the fighting started. He trusted Bruce and his control over his other half, but there was always a section of well-underlined fine print in the back of Tony's mind warning him that the Hulkster has been known to get carried away, and sometimes 'friends' got confused with 'ragdolls'. Tony didn't hold it against the Big Guy, but he was Iron Man, not a life-sized Iron Man action figure, and he was careful as he watched the Hulk's giant, green hands grab onto the nearest enemies, no chance of escape, and crushed them like tin cans or pounded them into the pavement like scrap metal.

He may have winced.

The bulk of the robots were surrounding the raging behemoth- poking, prodding and shooting, attacking as best they could as mass produced minions- and were rightly being taken out, but the Hulk seemed off, defending himself less-coordinated than usual, focusing elsewhere. _That_ caught Tony's attention and he followed the Hulk's wild, violent eyes past the oncoming Doombots and city ruin, scanning the area to find out _exactly_ what it was.

And there, not too far away in a building mostly unscathed, he sees something. His helmet automatically magnifies the sixth-floor window facing their little slice of the battle and his brown eyes snatch the wisp of a green cloak before it disappears back into the dark and out of his sight.

Doom. It was Doom. And for an honest moment Tony could empathize with Bruce completely as his own rage filled him, boiling his blood and blanking his mind so quickly that any inner beast could take over.

But as amazing as _Iron Hulk_ would be, Tony couldn't afford to let this be too personal, couldn't let emotions lead the way of action. There were times when he hated to admit it, but he was part of a team, and it didn't always look like the case, but they worked best together. He needed them and they need him, and right now, they all needed to take down Victor Von Doom.

Tony went into the air, hovering just over the Hulk's head. "Hold 'em off, Big Guy. I'm calling the Calvary."

He never knew how much the Hulk understood since Bruce tried explaining that they were two different beings, in a way, connected by coming from the same person, Bruce processing everything like normal with the Hulk operating on basic emotions and limited thought. But Mean and Green seemed to get the gist of what Tony was saying regardless, and continued to batter away at the ever so slowly winding down number of Doombots with an increased ferocity.

"Yo, Cap, I've got Doom in a seven-story on Second and Smith."

Static mixed with the sounds of metal on metal followed by a shallow grunt was all Tony heard before Steve's voice filtered through. "Hawkeye and I are over on Madison trying to get to a group of civilians trapped inside a convenient store. We're nearly two miles away." A loud noise like an explosion and the abrupt stopping of laser fire, then: "Black Widow?"

"No can do, Captain. There's a group of forty over here trying to take down buildings like dominos. Thor's doing his best to head them off and I'm just barely keeping the numbers down."

A silent pause as Tony floated between an army of Bots and Doom, feeling every second of time as it passed by, bit by agonizing bit, imagining Doom slipping further and further away, feeling their first chance in months laugh in their faces as it leisurely began to vanish.

"Alright,' Steve's voice came strong and sure, suddenly very much the all-American hero Tony secretly idolized as a kid. 'Here's what we're going to do. Clint, you clear the Bots on my right in the immediate area and then back-up Natalie and Thor. I'll have agents come in and assist the people here. Tony, can you keep Doom busy until I can get to you?"

Tony nodded with conviction even if Steve couldn't see it. "I'll save some for you."

"Just be careful Tony, I won't be long."

"Yes, mom," he huffed and his comm went quiet. Gathering himself- the storming, oncoming thoughts and the old, lingering anger of the last few months baring down heavily- Tony took a deep breath, pushing away what he could, and blasted the Doombot currently being ripped apart by the Hulk to get the Big Guy's attention.

"I'm going to go get Doom. You stay here and take care of the rest. Try not to have too much fun smashing without me."

Once again, the Hulk looked like he understood, his face twisting into an unfamiliar grimace as if to Tony's words and he went back to demolishing Doombots like it was his job- which it kind of was, Tony figured, superhero and all- littering the street with their multi-colored wired and blinking insides with even more determination.

Subtly was never really an option and so Tony forwent all tact as he flew straight to where he last saw Doom, going right through the glass window, taking chunks of plaster and stone with him and strewing glass on the floor as his entrance turned a five-by-five window into a fourteen-by-fourteen hole.

It wasn't well lit, but the sun was shining brightly enough, and Tony didn't have to so much as crane his neck to face the man they'd been turning over every newspaper stand and combing through every sewer looking for. The extra light streaming in from Tony's brand-new renovated entrance glinted against the emotionless metal mask, highlighting hollow eyes and an empty mouth. The remaining dark blended into the shadows of the green cloak, like the figure was half-merged with the bleakness of the wall.

But if one thing stuck out sharply, it was the way Doom stood there, arms crossed like he'd been waiting all day, posture so relaxed he could have been standing in line behind Tony at Dunkin Doughnuts ready to order an Espresso. Not a care in the world.

Tony knew he wasn't going to like where this was going to go.

"So, Vicky, come here often?" Tony couldn't see behind Doom's mask, and the man hadn't so much as twitched, but he _knew_ Doom was smiling. It set his teeth on edge.

"It's good to see you well, Iron Man,' even though he couldn't see it, Tony heard it, cruel and smug in Doom's voice. 'I've been waiting for you."

"Aww, how sweet. And I thought you didn't care," Tony breathed confidence, but Doom's indifference had set off the chimes of thousands of warning bells the second Tony's gaze assessed him, adrenaline pumping in his veins.

This time Doom did move, shifting he weight like this was an everyday happening, like this was no big deal, and Tony tensed at the movement. "Well, not you specifically, any one of you Avengers would have done just fine. But this little gift from fate might be that much more fun."

"Oh, come on Doom. You and I both know I've got better things to do, like cleaning up the toys you left all over my city. So why don't we push the fast-forward button on this piece of prime-time drama and skip the evil speech."

Doom laughed. Muffled by his mask, the humored sound pierced Tony right to his core, flooding his head with dark; with destruction and screams and dread. Because when Doom laughed, people were in danger and buildings were destroyed and innocent little kids who wound up right in the middle of it died. That harsh, stifled, chilling laugh turned the warning bells into a DEFCON 1 alarm.

"If you insist, Iron Man, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting." Doom's voice was still full of insane delight as he motioned with his right hand to the next room, billowing out his cloak and disrupting the shadows.

Tony refused to let Doom have the upper hand this time. No more dead sons, no more grieving mothers. With less thought than he'd like and more reaction than he promised himself, the Iron Man went straight to Doom, blasting the both of them into the room the villain had been waving towards. Doom landed on his back with Tony's foot holding him in place, both of Tony's hand propulsion generators were glowing and ready, facing him near point-blank.

It was a small victory that meant absolutely nothing when Tony got a good look around. Someone was going to take his genius card for thinking that Doom would go down just like that.

In the middle of the room, displayed like Doom had a secret passion for window decorating, were four stolen nuclear generators. Even worse, it didn't take Tony long to see that each and every one of them was active. Wires bonded together in coils, braided with every color of the rainbow, billowing from added ports and torn-off safety layering, weaving in and out of every single important line and main component.

Each was connected directly with another, lights on and a low hum emanating. But from the mass of wiring, Tony followed four individual cords, all leading to a single, small box. Obviously the switch box, where all the buttons and controls for causing irredeemable devastation would be.

The anger that boiled under his skin suddenly turned to ice, sluggish and bitter. Somehow, it must have shown, even though his iron walls, because Doom started laughing again. It was quieter, but just as damning, and he laid there like Tony was nothing more than a strong breeze that knocked him over.

Not even inconveniencing, just amusing. And Tony's mind stalled like an engine left outside to the elements too long.

Doom's voice wafted up, twisting along with the dust in the air and the dark, sneaking up on Tony like a snake, coiled and poisonous.

"An impressive sight it's sure to make . . . am I wrong?"

And before Tony could think rationally, the air left his lungs, red painting his vision in broad strokes, and he let loose a comparatively weak discharge of power. Not enough to kill, but defiantly enough to hurt. Because he's really, _really_ been wanting to hurt Doom.

But when the dust that had gathered up cleared, Tony could have yelled.

From under his foot, looking back up at him wasn't a broken, half-clinging mask or an arrogant, scarred face . . .

It was a robot- the bare essentials of a human form, mostly a metal skeleton with articulation dressed-up in a Dr. Doom variety Halloween costume, now jerking and smoldering from a blast that the real Doom would have taunted him for.

A modified Doombot. Cartoony, uncovered eyes contracted with the rest of the body, going right and left, up and down, before stopping at him abruptly, staring, and then a light he hadn't noticed before dying in their color.

No, not the real Doom, but that bastard had been watching.

This time, Tony did let out a noise. Not quite a yell or a scream, but a sound that expressed his anger and frustration and how for someone who liked to boast about how smart he was, was just outdone by ventriloquism.

"Tony?' Steve's voice questioned over the comm. 'Tony, are you alright? Do you have Doom? Coulson's sent back-up, I'm on my way."

"I'm fine, Cap," he said. "Doom's not here right now," the fake eyes started blankly at him. "But I left a message." Tony's gaze slowly drifted back to the generators . . . the four, active, nuclear generators with a blast radius alone that could take out Manhattan, not calculating whatever modifications Doom made. "And I've got four whole reasons why you and everyone else should gather up anyone left and make a break for it."

"Explain, Stark." Natalie's words were sharp and demanding.

Picking his foot off of robot-Doom's chest, Tony let it fall to it's face, the metal crunching and giving way to his weight. Satisfied as he could possibly be, he carefully walked forward.

Outside, Tony could see through magnified vision that something, probably a particularly annoying Doombot, maybe even the last one, what with the way the Hulk refused to let it get away, was getting _a lot_ of his consideration, unintentionally leading Mean and Green away from the area-turned-junkyard that used to be swarming in Bots.

Looks like the Hulk had taken Tony's earlier words to his big, green heart, and seeing as what he was in the room with, Tony figured it was for the best.

"I found the generators."

"Please tell me that's not what I think that means." Clint was winded, but alert. Tony would be paying attention too if someone told him they'd just found nuclear generators stolen by a criminal mastermind.

"Oh,' he went right to the little, black box, opening it up and ran every scan at his disposal, diagnostics lighting up his screen. 'It gets better."

Most of it was errors and unknowns- Doom's tech had a tendency to do that- but what Tony was able to get out of it was a lot of not good. The kind of not good where his stomach sank and his mouth dried up and a strange, light numbness began to creep over him.

If he had the time, if he had the resources . . . if he could take this giant mess of destruction created by a man that probably didn't even know why he was doing what was doing anymore and dissect it in his lab, then maybe there'd be a chance. A small chance, but a chance.

"Tony,' Steve sounded worried, 'Tony, how bad is it?"

Except he wasn't in his lab, surrounded by the tools and technology that would make this probable. He didn't have the resources he's lived his life with or created, and according to his very limited and mostly unhelpful scans, he didn't have the time.

"Pretty bad." There was no kill switch. No convenient wire to cut. Not even a clichéd countdown clock to let him know when exactly New York would be blown into the next century.

"You're the genius, Stark,' Nat meant it affectionately- well, as much as she could do affectionately. 'What do we do?"

You're the genius, Stark.

Tony looked the monstrosity over, mind going through calculations a mile a minute.

You're the genius.

He tapped over each exposed panel, traced every re-routed wire, the enormity of the generators becoming less of a presence and more like the machines he could handle.

Right. So he didn't have any familiarity or resources or time -those things that would make life, or at least this situation, a hell of a lot easier. But he was Tony Stark, and since when did he do anything easy?

"You," he said deliberately, hands already going to work, one freed of his armor for the dexterity he needed and the other as a tool. "Are all going to get everyone as far away as physically possible, and I," he re-focused the energy through his gloved hand into a fine laser, cutting into the closest generator, each spark giving him reason to develop a nervous tick. "Am going to try and make this not so bad."

"Tony," now he was unlacing wires, cutting consciously and twisting them to deflect the electricity and signals that flowed with them, his fingers already cut from the sharp, exposed ends. "Tony, I am coming to you. I've got the shield prototype. I-"

"_Steve_." Tony could count the number of times he's used the Captain's real name on his hands. "I hate to break it to you, but that prototype isn't going to do crap." Beads of sweat were rolling down his face and it was feeling a little cramped in his suit. "So waiting for you to get here would be wasting time I don't think I have for something I _know_ won't work."

Again, if he had time, maybe the prototypes could work. Maybe he could work out all the kinks with enough duct tape and hope and the calibrations could be done and everybody would live to fight another day.

But Tony new that life didn't work that way, and even super-solider Steve Rodgers would only get here in time to be incinerated.

Better to try and do this the old fashioned way, to limit the level of destruction and give everyone time to get the hell out of dodge.

Suddenly, everybody's voices were shouting into his comm, some calmer than others, but a jumble of words nonetheless. Most of them _Tony_, most of them trying to get his attention like he wasn't listening, most of them swearing to go get him like that would make everything okay, and most of them understanding what had to happen but hoping there was another way.

"I'm serious,' he said through the fray, cooler than he had the right to be. 'No one's allowed to do anything stupid without me, and I'm already here."

"What about Banner?" It sounded desperate, like thinking Tony would have some sort of miraculous break-through if he was kept talking.

"Last I saw, the Hulk was leaping after a pesky Doombot. Bet he's hit Central Park by now," he wanted to wipe the sweat off his face, but he needed the assessments and figures scrolling over his eyes. He couldn't afford to blink.

He was getting close. Close to something manageable. Tony smiled grimly, but let the small rush of success guide his hands surer and steadier.

"Tony-"

Tony wasn't positive who said it, but it had to stop. Right now, it just . . . it had to stop.

"Look, you guys are great conversationalists and all . . ."

Ragged ends were being melded back together. This was important.

"But I'm sort of in my element right now . . ."

Mechanisms were being removed and replaced. This was necessary.

"And you know how I am, so it would be awesome if you'd leave me to do my thing . . ."

The humming was gradually growing louder, with an undercurrent of frequency. This is what heroes did.

Without trying or forcing, Tony let the snark and egotism back into his voice, right where it belonged, familiar and expected.

Because he was almost finished.

"Catch you guys later," and he cut the signal to his comm.

Tony didn't trust much, or many, but he trusted that the others wouldn't come. He had too. They didn't like it, and he didn't like it- and Tony liked to think that his reason for not liking it was so much more valid- but his team knew that going after him was a mistake, and because they trusted him, like he trusted them, they'd stay away.

He was hot and cold. This was the most horrible thing to happen and the funniest. His heart was beating so harshly in his chest that he had to look down to see if his Arch Reactor was still working, but his mind was clear and his hands firm and deft with what little he could do.

Tony didn't do noble. He wasn't for valiant sacrifice all for the sake of being remembered and having a statue erected in his name, even if that would be totally awesome, and he really didn't care what other people thought of him. He did what he did because he wanted to, and because in most cases, it was the right thing to do.

And this? It was the right thing to do.

The last of his fixings were coming into place and right now, with everything that should be buzzing around in his head surprisingly peaceful and nothing else to lose given his current situation mere inches away of what amounted to a giant bomb, there was one more thing he had to do. Probably not the right thing, but he wasn't perfect, and these were regrets he didn't want to have.

"Jarvis?"

"_Yes, sir_?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

* * *

><p>He'd been in the same spot nearly an hour, having moved not an inch. At least, he supposed, no one else had moved either, very much going the same pace as he.<p>

Loki hated traffic. It was one of the very things that made him reflect on why he'd stayed in New York, so congested with people that anyone with sense sought alternate means of transport.

Staying had seemed the thing to do at the time, and there was little point in relocating himself now. He continued to gaze out the window, the clouds above the only thing to be moving when the lines of cars ahead looked endless.

An impatient sigh escaped and Loki leaned back. He was going to be late for his meeting, which was going to set back his entire day. He scowled to himself. He hated being late, and while traffic came with the grandiose life of the city, this was utterly ludicrous.

It was so very tempting to simply teleport to where he needed to be, but Loki had done well in his use of magic, keeping it sparse and private. So here he would sit, in traffic with the rest of the Midgardians, just as blind to the cause, and wait.

"Sorry, sir," Jefferson said from the driver's seat, more so for something to say than an actual apology. Loki didn't blame him, for the traffic or small talk, being impressed that the man hadn't fallen asleep with the rate at which they were moving and the silence Loki preferred to preserve.

"It's quiet alright, Jefferson," he breathed, running a hand through his hair, a frown pulling at his lips when it brushed just short of his shoulders. Really, how had he allowed it to become so long? His appearance with still neat and appropriate, never would he let it be anything less, but Loki was not necessarily fond of long hair.

Honestly, of all the things he'd become lax in, grooming was not going to become one of them.

Somehow, this was Tony's fault, and Loki would just have to find a creative way to blame him. Of course, Tony would probably wind up hopelessly pleased with himself and continue in his actions to 'loosen him up' as it were.

Loki smiled under his hand as he rested his elbow on the door paneling, welcoming a lapse in his irritation. Annoying, arrogant, wonderful man. Tony Stark was a forced to be reckoned with, and in many regards, had every right to be pleased with himself, though Loki would say no such thing, not even under pain of death, for fear of pandering to an already inflated ego.

There was a vibration against his chest and Loki reached inside his inner suit pocket for his phone, smile growing wider when Tony's name appeared.

Speak of the devil indeed.

"Hello, Tony,' he greeted, eager to get the worst out of the way, 'I'm sorry, but you won't believe the traffic I'm in and I'm afraid we'll most likely have to reschedule lunch- sometime next week it would seem, with the speed at which the snails are passing us by."

"Hey, Lawrence."

Loki's brows furrowed and he felt himself pause. Tony's words were spoken as if he hadn't heard him speak. In that one address, a meager two words, Tony sounded so very . . . off.

"Yes,' he tried again, unease forming. 'Hello, Tony. Are you alright?"

This time it was Tony who said nothing, his end of the conversation quiet, doing little to assuage Loki's apprehension.

"I could listen to you talk all day,' Tony said, ignoring his question entirely, then spoke like he was waking himself from a daydream. "Where are you?"

Strange. "Across from that bank off Piermont, near the coffee shop you swear by,' now he was faintly worried and confused, 'Why?"

"That's good, real good. More than far enough," Tony was talking like he was both distracted and determined, like one trying to get his thoughts in order. "I need to tell you something," his voice was sudden and strong, quickly rendered of any disproportion. It was polarizing and whirl of Loki's mind was trying to sustain. "But I don't have a lot of time."

"Go ahead," Loki said, opening his car door and stepping outside. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere, and the fresh air was a reprieve from the rapidly stifling zephyr of the inside.

"I'm going to be a selfish bastard, just dropping this on you, but- but I really need to tell you, for you to know." And Loki could hear a faint chuckle as he trailed off.

He leaned against his car, the hand that wasn't holding his phone clenching at nothing inside his pocket, fingers digging in and out of his palm, but he endured an enforced calm under the uncertainty. "It's fine, Tony, whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I'm Iron Man."

The answer came so swiftly that Loki wasn't sure he'd heard right and he stumbled over his words. "I'm- I'm sorry, what?"

"Me,' Tony reiterated, 'I'm Iron Man. _The_ Iron Man."

Unsure of how to respond, now fully feeling as though a rug had been pulled from under him, Loki laughed, quiet and tentative.

"You . . . Iron Man? Really, Tony, _Iron Man_? Did the titles of CEO and prodigy bore you so as to add 'superhero' to your impressive résumé as well?"

"It happened in Afghanistan,' Tony didn't respond to Loki's retort. He didn't sound put-out that Loki didn't believe him or laugh and call himself out on his own joke. 'It happened _because_ of Afghanistan. There were other things, still are, but that was what pushed me."

Tony was still going on with this, still playing. Because that's what is had to be- play, pretend. An unsolicited game. Loki wanted to call Tony a liar, to tell him to stop because this was not funny, the peculiarity in this voice and the gravity of his words.

But Loki, who was liesmith, who's silver-tongue came with a pair of ever heeding ears, did not hear a lie, did not hear the vile of untruth as it would saturate every syllable. For what reason would Tony have to make such a claim? And to drag to the light an experience that still pained him to speak about? It made no sense, none, and with his voice so grave and unwavering, Loki could only listen to Tony's words and hear truth, as light shining through black clouds . . . it was undeniable.

"Why are you telling me this now?" Because Loki felt in the marrow of his bones that this was not all Tony had to tell him, merely its motivation. And he _would_ know of its impetus. "Why are we not speaking face-to-face?"

"Are you mad at me?" Tony asked as though he feared Loki's reaction to his secret.

Loki was not angry, but his feelings and thoughts were jumbling together, twisting and twinning as vines because there was more to this than he was being told and Tony was doing so deliberately. It made sense, the more Loki thought about it, the father back he went. Tony being an Avenger, being Iron Man, was not was far-fetched as it initially appeared. The responsibility he carried, the guilt. His character had the faults and inspirations of a man who was more than himself, and Tony had the means to see such a task of self come to fruition.

No, he was not mad, and he would not judge Tony for keeping something so deep from him, as his own secrets still weighed heavily on his spirit, less honorable and cruel, but if Tony did not start answering him directly, then the shock of reveal would fall away to impatience quickly enough.

"I am not upset, Tony,' and Loki put as much honesty into his voice as he could, open and expressive, cutting out his own flowery speech and eloquent words, leaving the rest bare. 'Confused, perhaps, but not mad. Please, though, why aren't you telling me this in person?"

Tony didn't answer him immediately.

"_I don't have a lot of time."_ Those words whispered along his thoughts, carrying with them a fresh laceration of dire.

Loki's eyes widened and his grasp on his phone tightened, the sound of the case cracking distant and unimportant. "Tony . . . where are you?"

"I'm glad you aren't mad, 'cause I know you give one hell of a cold shoulder."

"Tony,' if Loki's voice was rising, he didn't notice, '_Where_ are you?"

He could hear Tony breathing, then draw a sharp intake. "Doing what heroes do. Keeping people safe. Keeping _you_ safe."

He wanted to laugh incredulously, he hardly needed anyone to keep him safe, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. "Tony . . ."

"I'm sorry,' Tony said it with the reverence of one who meant nothing else, 'I really, really am. Feel free to throw darts at a picture of me later, but you're important to me, too important, and I couldn't_ not_ tell you."

"Tony," it hurt, every time Loki said it. It's very utterance like mail string sewn into his lips. "Please," and he never pleaded, he never begged. "Please just tell me where you are, and I will come get you," he would, within a beat of his own stinging heart, consequences be damned.

"Is that so, Mr. I'm-Stuck-In-Traffic?" Loki could _see_ his smile. That _damned_, immovable, handsome smile.

"Tell me where you are." His voice was getting louder; the others who had been nodding off behind their steering wheels were taking notice. He didn't care.

"Oh, yeah,' Tony said casually, as though they were in his stupid Burger King and he'd forgotten his straw. 'There is one more thing I have to say."

"Tony,' Loki moved off his car, taking awkward steps, eyes searching franticly in all directions as if he'd find him. 'I will come to you, just _tell_ me-"

"It's a little thing,' Tony cut him off. 'Well, not little, but-"

"Stop this,' he demanded, eyes burning but he refused to close them, stretching out with every sense desperately for there was nothing else to do.

"You deserve better, _way_ better-" Something was droning in the background, but from where he was, Loki could hear nothing.

"This isn't _fair_," he nearly yelled, trying to speak over Tony, trying to prevent him from saying anything that was held for farewells, words and passings that were carried away by final breathes and followed by deafening silences.

"But I need you to know," such a silence he could not bear, yet Tony was unrelenting, and his words sliced through any pathetic defense or illusion Loki sought between them. He fell against another car- a taxi, his mind provided worthlessly- and gave little thought to the driver and passenger sure to be eyeing him cagily.

"_Please_ . . ." and he did not know to who he was beseeching.

"Lawrence," Loki cursed that name, despised how it was spoken, how Tony was so far, too far.

"_Don't_," he wanted to dig his palms into his eyes, he wanted to hit something- to bury his fist into the car behind him. He wanted to curl in on himself- to block out the out the rest of the world, but he was numb, brittle, and his body refused to move.

Tony's words were so simple and so sincere that Loki believed them with the very depths of his being the moment they were said.

"I love you."

The pitiable, strangled gasp that wretched itself from his throat was immediately drowned out by an explosion, far enough away that it was difficult to see but close enough that it was both heard and felt. The shock wave sent off car alarms, screeching and uninhibited, and windows broke, cracks forming radically in the glass, some ultimately shattering. The street began to fill with people running out of their homes and buildings to see what had happened and those leaving their cars to get a better look.

Voices were high and scared, panicked and searching, and still more people came. Searching out family, staying near friends. Couples were holding onto each other and children being picked-up and kept close, safe. More noises, more people. It surrounded him, threatened to consume him, but Loki was dazed to it all, and slid down to the dirty streets of New York.

Waiting.

"Buddy?" The taxi driver had left his car much like the rest of them and stood next to Loki, looking down at him in worry despite the overwhelming threat of chaos. "Hey, buddy, you okay?"

An unusually kind gesture when few others would care, but Loki didn't respond. He sat, unseeing, with his phone clutched so tightly in his hand that no force could have hoped to pry it from his grasp, for he was waiting.

Waiting for a voice that never came.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: I know I said a couple of weeks tops for this update, but long story short, I was in an accident. Nothing life-altering, but I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks and the time after was spent getting caught-up in school and making sure I didn't lose my job to pay for my school so I can get a real job. But I am sorry all the same, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think.**

Living in a time when America was chest deep in one of the worst wars the nation had ever seen, Captain Steve Rodgers had lost a few men.

Not many, being the leader of a small, tight-knit group of soldiers, but on occasion, especially working behind enemy lines, putting themselves directly into the line of fire, Steve would return from a mission with the tags of a dead soldier to send back to his family. How close they'd been or how well he'd known them never mattered, the tags were always heavy in his hand, heavier still when he was given the abilities to fight for his country and still couldn't see every man back home.

It happened. Not everyone was going to make it back, they told you that when you lined up, and kept telling you that every day from dawn to dusk while you learned to handle a rifle and point it at the face of the enemy, to throw a grenade into an unsuspecting group, to crawl under barbed-wire with bombs going off overhead, to patch up a fellow comrade long enough to carry him to safety by the strength of your back alone if you had to.

But it was alright, because each and every soldier was fighting for his wife, his children and his country, and if he had to lay down his life, then he would, because their lives and their freedom were worth it.

War had changed in seventy years, it was impossible not to notice. Men and women fought alongside machines now- sometimes, it was just the machines. Computers and robots. Pilotless aircrafts flying over the battle field to scope out the enemy's position, or to force them out with bombs. Fighting was done while staring at a screen with a keyboard as a weapon as much as it was face-to-face. It was smart, actually, it reduced casualties, and while Steve still wasn't sure how he felt about war being made near-impersonal, if it got one more man back home to his family, then that was okay.

Some things about war, though, hadn't changed. A battle field was still a battle field, wither it was in a remote part of Germany or a dessert in Afghanistan. A soldier still had to be fit and healthy up to regulations, still had to have the heart.

Families still saw off their loved ones. Soldiers still wrote to home. Guns still fired bullets. People still died.

Oh yes, even with all the technology- all the drones, wireless signals and "innovations"- that was still one thing that hadn't changed. That wouldn't.

Death.

Casualties of war. Good or bad, troops or civilians. People died. It could be between two countries or two men, but at the end of the day, when the tallies were counted up to become a figure written in a history book, those people were husbands, wives, sons, daughters . . .

They were friends.

It never got any easier, and Steve thanked God for that, because the day that the death of a fellow man didn't lose him some sleep at night was one he prayed he'd never see.

As it was, today wasn't that day.

It was too white in here, a problem Steve had with most hospitals and the like. The feeling of sterility, of bleakness, it got right under his skin. Everything was too bright, to spacious, and too quiet.

It made the sounds of the machines working to keep a man breathing and his heart beating almost deafening.

Steve sighed from the chair he sat in, running his hands over his face. He wasn't going to pretend he and Tony were the greatest of pals. On the best of days he could say they were friends, they could go out for a drink, laugh and joke and enjoy each other's company to a point without the fate of the world at stake. And then there were the worst of days, when their personalities and decisions clashed, when joking and teasing turned to insults and Steve had to remind himself to be the better man, or at the very least keep himself from decking Stark out of the suit.

Steve didn't think he was better. They were two men born in different times, raised in different ways. Tony was given anything he could ever want from a young age- fame, praise, respect, all handed to him on a silver platter of his family's legacy, but at the price of a distant father. Steve was a poor, skinny kid from Brooklyn who couldn't walk down one block without getting into a fight, but he had the support of his parents right up until they died. Tony could be too full of himself, Steve could be too righteous, and sometimes it took a serious threat looming over a city to even get them in the same room.

But despite their differences, Tony Stark is a good man. He's proven it before, and lying here on a hospital bed, bruised, bloody and broken, he's proven it again.

Alive, but just barely, and nothing guaranteed that he'd stay that way.

The past couple of days washed over him like Russia's harsh winter rains. The memories were cold, bitter and unwelcome, seeping deep into his muscles, balming the ache just enough for him to focus on it fully. He'd been in and out of this room for two days, and each time he left he felt like he was five-foot-two at a whopping ninety pounds again, a half-portion getting into scraps in alleyways where he always ended up eating pavement.

* * *

><p>"Stark?!"<p>

There was no answer.

That bastard turned off his comm.

He shouldn't have expected any less. It was haughty, impulsive, and even if Tony only scoffed at the word, _noble_. It took everything Steve had to turn around, to _not_ keep on running towards where Stark last checked in and stop him from being a hero.

But if Tony Stark said they had to leave, then they had to. There was no room for arguing, especially with someone so stubborn. Stark may love the sound of his own voice, but when the suit was on and the world saw Iron Man, Tony didn't just say things to say them. And even if Steve didn't know the full extent of the situation, he didn't need to be a genius to hear the dire in Tony's voice, and know that the result would be a hell of a lot worse if Tony wasn't doing this.

So he ran back, restating to Clint and Natalie what they already heard from Tony, making it an order, the steel in his voice full of chinks and rust.

They did what Stark asked, what he said needed to be done, what he _hadn't_ said ringing loudly within the silence where his quips should be heard. They hadn't wanted to, every nerve of loyalty screaming to go and save Tony, but as Avengers, as _heroes_, they put innocent lives first, just like he was, and took any civilians still nearby and ran for the perimeter, weaving and cutting through the Doombots left able to carry out their programming.

The explosion that followed rocked the ground, shaking cars and breaking windows, knocking people off their very feet and caused foundation to tremble.

And this was the effect they could see, that they could feel, from a few miles _away_.

For a moment, there was a pause; like the entirety of the city had to ask itself if that had really just happened. Steve could feel the shock of it too, and all he had to do was glance at his team- at Natalie helping an older woman with a sprained ankle over to a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, at Clint looking out for any leftover Bots, arrow drawn- and when his eyes met theirs, they were running, their masks of stoicism slipping, a speechless fear moving them. Tired, straining, and somewhat desperately, they were running to Tony, hoping against hope that there would still be a man to find. That once again, Tony's genius found a loophole in another no-win situation and managed to beat the odds.

The closer they got, the worse it got. Steve was panting by the time they made it to Second, any faith rapidly dwindling along with the sweat threatening to obscure his vision. He was tired, no doubt. Battling Doom's forces nonstop, then running at a breakneck speed to a fallen friend was taking its toll. He leaped over abandoned cars, side-stepped large cracks in the roadway and asphalt, and maneuvered around the warped, metal bodies of Doombots, all the while with Clint and Natalie right behind him, not once falling back.

His didn't think he could run any faster if Nazi's were on his heels, and his lungs burned with the effort, but he didn't stop, not until he had to, when the destruction went from minor and superficial to collapsed buildings and dug-up streets, the surrounding area not much more than bowed structures and debris. Dust filled the air, but a few yards away Steve could see Thor. The God had flown off the second the explosion sounded, and was helping the Hulk dig through what _had_ been a mid-construction apartment building.

It was a giant pile of concrete, plaster and brick. Metal rods stuck out at random like quills on a porcupine and shards of glass caught the light as the dust thinned. Steve would have been overwhelmed, taking in the horror of it all, if he wasn't so narrowly focused on one aspect: Tony.

The Hulk was hefting away the larger pieces, moving thick slabs and large handfuls of remains while Thor yelled to Tony, shoveling the rubble in no real direction, desperately trying to find a sign as to where Tony was buried, a point where they could concentration their energy.

Natalie and Clint stayed back, not wanting to get in the way with a lack of super strength but ready to jump in the moment they were needed, so Steve went forward, his shield dropping to the ground as he picked up the nearest chunk of building and tossed is away. He did it again, and again, and again, like working the assembly line, waiting for a gleam of red or gold to appear from under the wreckage.

Each piece felt heavier than the last, wearing down the gloves of his uniform- blood starting to splotch the concrete from his fingers as he tossed it away. He heard Nat and Clint call in agents and medics, heard Thor and the Hulk grunt in effort as they cleared the wreckage, but he still didn't hear Tony.

It didn't take as long as he thought, and while that was one, merciful point in their favor, it was where the favors stopped.

There was a shout of, "Captain!" from Thor and Steve swerved his head to see the Hulk lifting Iron Man out of the remains and lay him out with a gentleness not often associated with the unpredictable member of their group. But with the Hulk's bulking, green hands no longer around the armor, Steve's heart sank, the tiny flame of hope fanned by Thor's exclamation diminished.

The armor was damaged beyond any repair, wither or not your name was Stark. Entire sections were caved in, dangerously crushed against the body inside. Layers of metal were stripped away, jagged and sharp like the lid of a tin can. What was once a flashy combination of red and gold was now more burnt black and dulled steel, highlighting depressions in the suit, stopping only at some areas where it was ripped open by force alone and Steve could see glimpses of Tony underneath.

Thor was still calling out to Tony, and Tony still wasn't answering.

If the outside of Iron Man looked this bad, then Steve was afraid of what Tony looked like inside. The Arch reactor was still glowing, but did that mean he was still breathing? It was gruesome, something made for protection turned to a coffin and it was no better than being buried alive. Steve shook his head. Those thoughts had no place here, not right now. He had to keep his head in the here and now. _That_ was what would give Tony the best chance, not Steve assuming he was already gone.

He held onto that steadfast determination and directed the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents coming in, watching resolute as they loaded Iron Man into a medical vehicle and drove away.

* * *

><p>When they got Stark back to the mansion, he was immediately taken to the medical wing, fully equipped as any hospital. Getting off the suit would have been hard even if it wasn't crushed around him, but because Tony hadn't built a machine or robot that could take the armor off in likelihood of such an event, it took no small part of ingenuity by the medical staff to get Tony out of it.<p>

Everything from a crowbar to Jarvis was used to pry the suit off of him, and once Bruce came back from the Hulk, it was a bit easier. The scientist could guide the staff and uneasy Avengers to the weaker parts of the armor and show them emergency releases, even if most of them were jammed from the damage.

Everyone had been on edge, the tension in the room replacing the air. No one was able to reach Tony, to check his vitals, to see if he was okay, until the suit was off, and every second that ticked by had the tension weigh down that much more on Steve's chest.

They finally did remove the armor, but the hits just kept coming.

The medical staff swarmed Tony the moment every obstructing piece had been dealt with, and Steve was begrudged to get out of the way, because Tony, _dear God_, the man was covered in freshly formed bruises and cuts littered every inch of him. There were burns where Steve had seen breaks in the armor, running along indefinite patterns in red and blacks and he stood shell-shocked with the crash of responsibility.

The doctors shoved past him with machines for finding a pulse and checking his heart and looking for internal damage. He and his team were ushered out, because there wasn't any point in them being there, they weren't doing any good, and they were in the way.

This was the third time Steve had visited Tony in three days, each stay longer than the last. The man had multiple contusions and lacerations. He had six broken ribs, a leg broken in four different places, a broken collar bone and dislocation of both shoulders. Then he had a fractured skull- severe head trauma, extensive tissue damage, his left wrist was fractured and the entirety of his right hand, which had been uncovered when they found him, was so badly burned and the bones damaged that the doctors weren't sure they could save it.

And over two days before the team was allowed anywhere near him, the medical staff battled internal bleeding, possible organ failure, a collapsed lung, and his heart had stopped twice.

When the head doctor of the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical branch met with them, Fury and Coulson included, and read off every single injury Tony had obtained and was being treated for with an assuredness so grave that Steve couldn't get the severity of the damage being ticked-off some list on a clip board out of his head, it was no surprise when the doctor finished with, "He might not wake up."

Iron Man, _Tony Stark_, might not wake up.

There was nothing he could have done. That's what Bruce told him yesterday, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder while Steve sat next to Tony's bedside circled in wires and tubes. Bruce had gone over what the field agents were able to salvage from the destruction, saying that if Tony hadn't stayed, half of New York would have been wiped off the map.

It was a work of genius only Tony Stark could have pulled off. Bruce tried explaining it the best way he could with the limited knowledge he had, but Steve doubted that would have helped him. He was techno-illiterate, as Tony loved to say. The point was that Tony contained the blast because there wasn't enough time to prevent it, and no matter what calls Steve made during the fight, whatever way he might have done things differently, Tony would have found a way to do it regardless.

Tony Stark was a good man, and a good man put his life on the line for millions of people.

Everyone was dealing with it in their own way. Natalie hardly left the gym; quickly catching up to him in the number of punching bags rendered useless, and Clint was unusually quiet, sitting by himself while meticulously checking over his bow and arrows, going through the motions at least three or four times in a sitting. Bruce buried himself in work, revisiting a project Tony was working on months ago to find Doom's unique energy signature, and Steve spent most of his time here, thinking about too much or not thinking about much at all. He knew he couldn't blame himself, but that didn't stop him from doing so.

When the team was informed of Tony's condition, Thor left immediately. The Thunder God gave them very little explanation, saying there was possibly something back on his home world of Asgard that could save Tony. He called it a 'healing stone' but from the way Thor said it like he feared giving hope, to the look of gravity on his face, Steve wasn't sure how much faith could be put in that option when Thor didn't seem to have much in it himself.

Still, Steve didn't hold him back and demand specifics. Time was of the essence, and if there was something that could help Tony, regardless of the likelihood it would work, then he wished Thor all the luck, because with what little here on Earth that could help Tony nearly exhausted, maybe his chances lied beyond the stars Steve spent so much of his childhood gazing up at, diligently waiting for one to steak past so he could make a wish on it.

Steve was a little too old for wishes now, and hope was a fickle thing to hold on to, but there wasn't anything else he could do.

So he'd sit here, in a chair next to Tony's bedside, minutes bleeding into hours, and hope. He'd look at the cuts, bandages, and bruises swelling Tony's face and hope that this 'healing stone' would work. He'd wring his hands, not for the first time noting there wasn't a scratch on them, and hope that Thor would come back soon. He'd wait, restless with the guilt of a leader for a lead in the manhunt for Doom, drowning in the sounds of machines and the blinding white of the room and the irritating smell of sterility, and hope that Tony would survive this.

The watch on his wrist told him he'd been there for hours. Steve stood up slowly, tired and weary. He shouldn't do this to himself. No one had called him, but it didn't mean there wasn't somewhere else he could be, and if Tony was conscious, he would have told Steve to go do something patriotically productive from day one. It wasn't a bad idea, and in the snark of Tony's voice, he found himself smiling, just a bit. He needed something . . . something else to focus on, to hold off the guilt for a little while until he inevitably came back here and sat next to his battered teammate for another round of hours, the silence between them loud and unfamiliar.

He never thought he'd miss Stark throwing names at him on a regular basis.

With a heavy heart, Steve turned away from Tony, trying hard not to shuffle his feet, keeping his head high and back straight like the soldier he was supposed to be. His thoughts were distracted by grief, mulling over ways to keep himself busy until he was needed as he stepped out the door of Tony's room, and for a brief moment, Steve could have sworn he felt something sweep by him, like a person brushing his shoulder trying to get past. It startled him out of his head, but a quick glance around, alert eyes sweeping the room, showed nothing new, just Tony laying there motionless as he had every day, and Steve rubbed his arm, deciding he'd been in this room far too long.

* * *

><p>Green eyes darkened by anguish followed the blonde super-soldier as he shut the door behind him, his brush with a specter unseen excused by exhaustion. Still, Loki dared not reveal himself, for this place was littered with eyes and it would not do well for any involved to have a strange man appear out of thin air in what he had learned over the last few days to be a highly secured facility.<p>

He turned his gaze to the man on the bed.

_Tony_.

Pulling himself together after the explosion that hushed a voice he might never hear again was akin to forcing together mismatched puzzle pieces. He had been experiencing too much at once and it was overwhelming to the point of shock, and with the patchwork his thoughts and feelings were perverted into, it was foolish to teleport where fire and smoke engulfed the sky.

But he had, ignoring the concern of the taxi driver and waving a quick spell to Jefferson, lapsing his memory into believing he'd yet to pick up Loki from his office, despite no guarantee it would efficiently work, him being so long out of genuine practice. It was lazy and unrefined and unnecessarily reckless, but Loki gave little consideration to subtlety and planning when Tony's final words echoed endlessly inside his head and stabbed viciously at his heart.

He closed his eyes against the internal onslaught, though the reality of this situation was not something to be ignored simply because he couldn't see it. He opened them again and the hospital room was before him as always, the sight no less dismal, and opted to take the captain's place in the chair beside Tony's bed.

Looking at Tony's form was difficult to do, only serving to remind him the fragility of human life, yet his gaze never lingered away for long. The man was broken, _so very broken_, teetering on the brink of death, a place so far and dark that none could reach him to pull him back to safety. Loki bowed his head, hands gripped together to keep them from crushing something under his despair.

Getting to Tony had been easy enough to do, the magic engulfing him like an old comfort and sending him to a place in his mind's eye, and then he was there. Even with dust flavoring every intake of air and the smallest of noises reverberating through a void absent of sound, the level of destruction was graciously small, yet its effect resonated well beyond its physical limits. An unwelcome sensation of fear made him hesitant to look, to seek out- it had been so long since Loki felt true _fear_- but years of subduing emotions gave second-nature to grind the reaction under his heel and into the ground.

Quickly, he discovered he was not alone, and color stood out in contrast against the ruined area. The Avengers were there as well.

It shouldn't have come as any surprise. Of course they would be.

His years on Midgard found Loki occasionally thinking of what would happen when he saw Thor again, if he ever did. The shadow looking upon the sun from which it was cast. Would he feel compelled to anger? To hate? Would he attack Thor in passion? Stand calmly in front of him with cool self-satisfaction?

Had Loki's time in his new life guided his pain into manageable bitterness or left it simmering, waiting to boil over? Perhaps it did not matter, and he probably would never truly know, for seeing Thor not on a screen or across a newspaper, but with only a few yards of nothing separating them, any and all flashes of old anger and potential confrontations were as fleeting as lone snowflakes caught in the sun, because the metallic glint of a warped, mangled body stole his devotion.

Red and gold, the body of Iron Man. The mask that encased Tony Stark.

Horror blinded him to all else as he kept his invisibility close and his eyes followed, never blinking, as Iron Man's body- _Tony's body_- was dug up from the devastation. Suddenly, there were others; men and women in uniforms and suits, wholly unremarkable in appearance, flooding the area, and Loki took less caution then he'd ever had in moving forward, enough care to remain little more than a whisper carried by wind yet bold in his steps to reach Tony.

He had remained in that state, trapped somewhere between two extremes, and followed them. Mindful enough to keep his distance, but never so far as to loose Tony from his sight, Loki kept with them. The Avengers. He watched differing cascades of emotion run over each and every one of their faces like a waterfall- dread, anxiety, panic-, heard them shout, throwing around orders and commands, unable to hide the alarm under the brittle strength of voice. He watched as the situation desperately tried to be salvaged, watched as Tony's mangled, armored body was slowly, carefully, placed into a nondescript vehicle and immediately driven away from the scene.

He put the speed of light to shame with the time it took to place himself into the car that followed shortly after.

He kept his eyes on the haggard rise and fall of Tony's chest, one of the many machines in the room forcing his lungs to work so that he may survive. Unknowingly, Loki had been taken to Tony's side first, and lead to the base of operations for the Earth's protectors second. Dangerous information in the hands of one who had the power to exploit it, but after days spent as a silent audience to the men and women of Tony's second life, to _their_ pain and _their_ grief, he couldn't find it in himself to blame them, to feel anything more toward them than empathy.

He never cared about superheroes, their presence long leaving its mark on Midgard well before it became his home. Only when Thor's face and name became associated with the Avengers did he ere on the side of caution when it came to exposure. The chances of Loki ever coming into contact with any of the group were rare- with Thor himself even scarcer, and Loki found he had to do so little it amounted to almost nothing to keep their worlds separate.

An ironic turn of events, considering where he sat now, in a chair that had been previously occupied by Captain America, Hawkeye, the Black Widow, and the man before the beast- a scientist he learned was named Bruce Banner. They, much like he, had sat here, in this clean, white room, and mourned loss.

Seldom had Loki strayed from Tony. The next room over could have contained the secrets to the universe and in the days he'd been here, he would never have known. Only once, early on, had he left . . . when the silence he used to revere so long ago became rope around his neck and the sight of Tony so helpless started pulling it tight.

The pull between the need to stay and the urge to leave threatened to rip him in two, but desolation and powerlessness had become close companions and walking away from Tony's bedside hadn't offered the reprieve he'd sought. He hadn't made it three yards, emotions plaguing every nerve ending down his very core, before turning back, weaving around the agents of what he come to learn as S.H.I.E.L.D. as little more than a gentle breeze.

A lump formed suddenly in his throat, even though he's hardly spoken in days. Loki didn't need to close his eyes to remember what he'd seen when he walked back into the room. Less than ten minutes had to have passed from when he left to when he'd returned and it was a cruel display of the inconsequentiality of the human life as he was nearly barreled over by too many doctors trying to fill too small a space, desperately checking vitals and shouting over a loud, endless beep- a monotone, taciturn noise that screamed Tony's heart had stopped.

It was the second time Tony's heart had given out, the first being during a surgery when the doctors had everything under control and it was efficiently dealt with, but now . . . now it was disorder, and any control was quickly bleeding into that horrible, warning drone. Medical staff were rushing around the room, grabbing equipment and moving themselves accordingly and Loki had to adjust himself appropriately lest he knock over the one person who might end up saving Tony's life, watching them inject different medicines, and use alternative techniques, and ultimately attempt to shock the life back into him.

The scene unfolded much like shaking a glass jar full of flies.

In those horrible, confused moments, Loki truly thought he was going to watch Tony die. With the doctors applying very bit of knowledge and experience they had into reviving him, waiting with waning, feigned calm for some sign that Tony wasn't completely _gone_, Loki felt the cold, sluggish ice that had filled his veins since Tony had last spoken to him over a phone melt away to something new.

It was raw, unbridled, anger.

In those horrible, confused moments, Loki truly thought he was going to watch Tony die, and he _hated_ him for it. This pure, heated anger had come to him once before, labeled as madness by a half-witted oaf thinking he knew better. It was an emotion that Loki found comfort in, because how could he possibly be a monster born of dark and frost when his blood boiled so fiercely underneath his skin? Yes, holding onto this anger, it warmed his numb body and pulled together his fleeting thoughts and focused the spiraling pool his errant emotions had become.

Who easier to be angry at than Tony Stark? And in that instant, Loki had never hated someone so much.

How _dare_ he? How dare _Tony Stark_- a man who boasts so loudly about his skill and intelligence, who could never leave well-enough alone, who purposefully created challenges just so he could rise to the occasion . . .

How dare he lie there and simply give up?

With men and women running around, edging closer to frantic with every motion, for a moment, he shut them out. In his anger, in his _disbelief_ that Tony would let go after so short a fight, Loki gathered his magic; it's warm presence flowing through him, vibrant anew at being called upon so heavily after so long.

He didn't think on how he wasn't a healer, his magic nowhere near attuned for the art of knitting bone and mending skin, to revive flesh and blood. His was power, the only grace and subtly he possessed in working illusions, and that if he wasn't careful, his power could end up killing Tony instead of saving him.

But he didn't think about that, because if he had stood there, doing nothing, then Tony would have died regardless.

And Loki was a selfish man.

It was too long, and the medical staff went from desperately trying to illicit a response from Tony's still heart to slowly, steadily accepting defeat- the fire in them to keep a man alive snuffed out by the raw truth of the matter that they had failed.

Loki would have none of it.

He hated that he hadn't died in the collapse of the Bifrost. He hated that of all realms, Midgard had been his salvation. He hated that his choices for a second life had lead him to a man named Tony Stark. He hated that said man had slipped so effortlessly behind his defenses, and he hated himself for letting Tony in at all.

Most of all, Loki hated that he'd gone and fallen in love him.

With a swift, striking motion- hand shooting out to Tony though not close enough to touch- Loki poured everything he had into that frail, human heart. It was anger and fear and hope and_ love_. It was the first time they'd met and the last time they'd spoken. It came from a place that burned bright enough to blind, but Loki took it and channeled it and gave it all to Tony until he could feel it draw upon his own life.

He would have gone further, too, to use every last bit of himself to see Tony alive again, but the machines monitoring Tony's vitals began beeping furiously and the staff that were a good minute away from giving up all hope jumped back into action, calling out with renewed energy and looking at the man who'd been in Death's grasp not a second before with astonished expressions.

Somehow, they were surely thinking, Tony Stark had come back- a miracle, it may be called. No one would know of the once-God leaning against a wall in the room, resting his weight against its flat surface to keep his legs from giving out, the sweat rolling down his brow and heaviness in his limbs outweighed by sheer relief.

It was so small a victory, but Loki had taken it, refusing to leave Tony's side should his damaged heart fail again.

It hadn't happened . . . but then again, neither had anything else. Each day was marked another twenty-four hours in which there were no signs that Tony Stark would wake up. There was no twitching, no mumbling- not even any movement behind his eyelids. He couldn't breathe on his own and every heart-beat was watched like it was anticipated to be his last.

Loki was beginning to wonder if he was sitting next to a person, or what was left of his body.

The possibility was cruel enough to destroy him, and Loki now keenly understood humans and the relationships to their "Gods". It would be a wonderful thing, if some higher power was listening, that Loki could beg for Tony's life. To put his hands together and pray, perhaps offer something in return for his prayer granted.

But his plea would reach none, and Tony's smile and wit and laughter would not be given back by him silently asking for it by hours end.

Loki _wished_ there was something more out there, a greater being not bound by the natural laws of the nine realms. A being Loki could curse and scream at 'til his throat burned and he had no words left. A being he could yell to about the injustice of it all and demand _why_, that of_ all_ the wretched people inhabiting the universe- himself included- why was _Tony_ laying at its mercy?

A wetness at the corner of his eye was gently wiped away, preventing its fall. Loki looked down at the tears staining his fingers and smiled crookedly.

Being angry at something that didn't exist was pointless. What's done is done, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. However, as a white-heat built in his hand and the evidence of his pain evaporated instantaneously, there was _someone_ to who the blame fell.

His named had been muttered furiously under breaths, assurances and murder quickly following. A presence that had never stepped foot inside the base yet left evidence of itself in every somber silence and each dark, underlined eye.

Every man and woman capable was searching for _him_, any and all hints to his whereabouts gone through with a fine, razor-toothed comb, no rock being left unturned. The attack had been personal. They could quite possibly lose one of their own. There would be no sleep, no wavering. Resources would be used to their limits and beyond until _he_ was found. Only then, with _him_ physically in their hands, would the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. consider rest.

They were working hard, Loki knew, but he had little faith in their chances. Which was why, after five days of watching a significant part of his life spin rapidly out of his control, of wading in a fathomless sea of torrid _sentiment_, did he come to a decision.

It should have come to him sooner. Many things should have, but now that he had this one, simple thought- composed just enough to be more than feeling- turning around in his mind and bristling along his fingers, did Loki know a sense of peace.

He had magic, a power not bound by physical laws, and it would find _that man_ and the only limits would be Loki's imagination.

Doom.

Loki would see that his fate befall his namesake.

As such, he had spent enough time here. Afraid to leave, but determined to go, purpose was an enlightened thing. Still, he'd taken enough time to be well in debt, what were a few more moments?

Tony's hand was cool as he brought it into his own and another pin sunk into his chest. Tony should never be cold. He should be warm. Warm and exasperating and a constant in life- all things that were quite impossible now.

Loki suppressed the swift wave of anger, saving it for better use. He stood, giving Tony's limp hand a gentle squeeze before placing it back by his side. This was not good-bye, but it was bitter-sweet and Loki hoped that silently promising to return would be met with a silent agreement from Tony that he would still be here when he came back.

He was struck with an old memory. Of listening to stories where good always triumphed over evil and a kiss could setback death. It was childhood fancy, but, oh, how he wanted it. He would give Tony a proper kiss, but there were tubes feeding him air blocking the way, entombing him, so Loki settled for placing one against his brow.

Nothing happened, of course. Loki hadn't expected as much, and at this point, he was wasting time. Magic could do many things, but it wasn't synonymous with love, and while Tony would not be brought back with a simple token of affection, one thing his magic _could_ ensure that what had beaten-down the Iron Man would no longer be able to take away anything else.

Ever again.

* * *

><p>It was dark underground. Cool and silent with a certain feeling of privacy one such as he enjoyed. His base of operations, his hiding abode, the birthplace of his new age- it was where Victor Von Doom basked in his victory.<p>

There were many things to be pleased about, and scarred lips twisted into a smile beneath his shadowed, faceless mask. He had done it. With superior intellect and larger forces, Doom had crippled the Avengers. At the cost of months of planning and a large portion of his army, many would see it as a failure, but Doom couldn't be happier with the result.

Yes, perhaps New York still stood, on shaky foundation though it may be, and yes, there was still a team of heroes and their league of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but he had done so much better than erase them from existence.

He had cut off a leg of the beast, and would watch as it bled to death while desperately chasing him in retribution.

It hadn't taken long after he lost the signal from his robot-self for Doom to realize that the salvation of New York came with the cost of Iron Man and the memory of it turned his smile into a grin. Glee bubbled in his stomach, pure and simple. A key piece had been taken out of the game, and all he had to do was sit back and wait for the opportunity to strike again.

Laughter tickled the back of his throat; it was a most fortunate turn of events! All that was needed now was time, and Doom is a patient man. He would wait here, in this damp, cool lair of his own design as he rebuilt his machines and regrouped his men. Hidden, but forever a lurking company in the back of his enemies minds he would be, and when he saw his chance, he would attack with an even greater power than before, unrelenting until those who dared stand in his way had no choice but to yield.

The echoing sounds of his machines working was a song, sweetly reverberating off the dank, brick walls to the melody of metal against metal, sparking and grinding, and Doom leant back in his chair, taking in the assurance of a well-improved future.

It was then, resting his mind, going over new plans and careful arrangements, did he notice the temperature in the air begin to drop.

To the inexperienced, it might have appeared to be nothing, but he was no idiot and left no excuse to ignorance.

Sitting up immediately, Doom's eyes went to a console on his right, looking at the monitor and seeing his guards still dutifully at their stations, having been heavily yet subtly placed at the only entrances of his base. Nothing looked amiss, but something was not right, and if hearing his thought, the artificial lights above him began blinking rapidly, the power cutting in and out.

Abnormally, Doom could see his breath frosting up slowly from the mouth of his mask, matching the icing crystal gradually creeping up every surface in the room. Turning back to watch as his monitors began icing over, fogging the picture, it was with a growing sense of trepidation when the video feed cut to static . . . and then nothing.

And like a domino effect, every other monitor shut off, the sounds of his machines stopping abruptly, and he could_ feel_ the power as if it was being leeched from his lair, the only thing still operational were the sporadic lights over his head, casting everything in light, then in shadow with each pulsing flicker.

A split-second when the room was bathed in light did Doom see a figure, and he rose from his seat, stance betraying nothing but mild curiosity as to the identity of his unannounced guest, even if inside he was battling with _who_, _how_ and _why_.

With one final flash, the lights flickered back on and did not turn back off. Eyes adjusting to the steady source of light, Doom observed the man leisurely walking to him from across the room. He _was_ a man, that much Doom could tell, but unlike most men, his skin was blue and his eyes were red and with each step that brought him closer, Doom could _see_ the power radiating off of him.

The man stopped, and there was silence. Thoughts of demons and monsters briefly flashed through his mind, but Doom had come across many creatures- this man was hardly the worst of them- but he _had_ been caught off-guard, and that was _not_ something he could permit.

Doom was taking back control of this situation.

Now.

"Quite the show,' he said carefully, 'very theatrical."

The man smiled, but there was nothing behind it. "You,' his voice was neutral; words said with something of an accent, 'are an exceptionally difficult man to find, Doctor."

Upon closer inspection, now that his guest was a few feet from him, Doom could see markings on his unusual skin, almost tribal in nature. Patterns etched everywhere visible, circular and linear, and it drew the eye. It was strange seeing someone so inhuman in appearance dressed like he should be representing a client in court.

"Not difficult enough it would seem." Again the man smiled, but this time it had an edge to it, and Doom instinctually readied himself. People who broke into his home rarely did so as a courtesy call. He subtly pressed a button hidden along the arm of his chair . . .

"You'll find me to be a man who values privacy. We will be very much alone for the time being." Those searing, red eyes had never left his and Doom knew any attempt to summon his men would be futile.

Minutes passed and nothing transpired.

This situation was quickly playing out as unfavorable.

It was just the two of them, and of the two, the man across from him didn't look at all bothered. In fact, he didn't look much of anything, any expression played on his face controlled and fictitious. The cold bristling the air was painful, Doom holding back the need to pace and circulate the blood in his limbs, but the stranger seemed unaffected, his words not even misting up as he spoke.

Very unfavorable.

"You have me at a disadvantage,' and the freezing air left him winded simply from talking, each breath taken like a lung-full of ice-water, 'would you care to introduce yourself?"

"_No_."

That one word was the most heated thing in the room and it sizzled with intensity. But the man collected himself, shutting his eyes a brief second and then the calm, empty smile was back and his eyes were burning right through Doom's mask, scorching through the very face he was known by.

"I am content to have you at a disadvantage, and learning my name would prove pointless. We won't be in each other's company long enough for it to be of any use for you."

Doom balled his hands into fists, feeling the resistance and hearing cracks with each curve. Frost was glistening on the metal plates of his gloves and his cloak was stiff. He was going to have to act soon, despite a lack of knowledge on who had broken into his base- but if he could turn the climate into a threat, then it would be foolish for Doom to let this go on any longer.

"Then might I ask why this impromptu visit?" Cautiously, he gathered energy in his palm, its warmth a small comfort.

He was not answered immediately, instead subjugated to inspection. The man smiling grimly and watching as Doom was obviously trying to suppress an onslaught of shivering like he was a particularly interesting insect under a microscope. The stare was infuriating. Doom was not something to be _stepped on_ and the anger of that notion unfolded in his gut and spread. Out of rage and with precision, he struck, unleashing large streaks of blue-white lighting and sending them at his presumptuous invader.

It was with no little surprise when his attack was simply swatted away, not even earning a flinch. Uninterested, the man merely raised a hand and the concentration of Doom's power danced around them, glittering off the frost covered area until it fizzed away to nothingness. Doom stood in shock, and the man used his disbelief to make an attack of his own.

What had been unbearably cold before became _pain_- terrible and ruthless. The air turned to ice which became needles, stabbing again and again and he couldn't breathe, the inside of his lungs freezing, hitching with every effort. Doom couldn't move, and his chest stuttered agonizingly as the man came closer, unsure now if it was from fear or cold.

"You've taken something from me, Mr. Doom." His voice was as cold and as sharp as the ice Doom could feel to his bones, "And I am not so sure I can get it back." It was impossible to speak, his lips sealed together. There would be no negotiating, no begging.

For once, he was powerless.

Face-to-face, he could see many more shades of red in the mad eyes of his assailant, all swarming and swirling together with a heat that sharply contrasted with the cool of his skin. There was no clemency in their depths, only a plan. One that Doom knew he had no chance of escaping.

"Suffice to say,' and now his words trembled, but not from the frozen waste of the room, 'I come here for _revenge_."

Doom didn't know what he'd done to this man, and he couldn't ask, but he knew- with startling, horrifying clarity- that he was going to pay for it. He was going to be thrown in the Ninth Circle of Hell, and this man would lower him by his deeds into its greater frozen depths.

"I tell you now, though," he whispered, dangerously close and just at the edge of Doom's peripheral vision, "I am not going to kill you." His breath was colder still, unfurling against the metal of his mask but Doom could feel on the bare of his face. "I doubt very much that he would want me killing in his name." Before Doom could contemplate on who _he_ was, before he could even take in a small part of the excruciating air and start the very fringes of thought, the cold surrounding him and encasing him became living, moving, _under his skin_, and it squeezed until the fierce cold seeped so far in it _burned_.

There was a promise, hissed into the cusp of his ear.

"But I _am_ going to make you _suffer_."


End file.
